The Silent Siege Original Version
by swishandflick14
Summary: A plan that would have involved Ginny Weasley's destiny with the Boy Who Lived and her own haunted past gets to him first. Alternate Version of The Silent Siege written before Order of the Phoenix. Sirius Black Version. H/G R/Hr
1. The Burned Down House

**A/n: In the interest of gathering some more readers, I'm posting the very original version of the Silent Siege that I recently found. The major difference between this version and the already finished version is that Sirius is alive in this one. That also means that it does not match up with Veil of Memories. I do hope that you will enjoy this version! Updates will be posted every other week. **

**The Silent Siege Original**

**Chapter 1**

**The Burned Down House**

The village of Little Whinging, Surrey, only had two real fire engines; one had already been called out when the cook at the Great Palace restaurant had been a little too lavish with the cooking oil for an order of Kung-Pao chicken. Henry Middleton was therefore not terribly happy when, on an unsually balmy night in late August, the claxons sounded again. Little Whinging's fire force was mostly volunteer to begin with and only a smattering a men now crowded around a small TV in the corner, laughing over a comedy about an overbearing housewife, obsessed with the opinions of her neighbors, and her poor lap dog husband. Henry, who saw enough of people like that in real life, threw down the _Times_crossword, strode over to his men and snapped his fingers angrily in their faces:

"Oy, what's the matter with you lot?"

Most of the men, tired of false alarms and wrong numbers wrought by the ever-increasing proliferation of mobile phones with automatic emergency line dial up, grudgingly got their feet and prepared to man the remaining engine.

"What if there's another call while we're out?" asked Frank Sedgwick, a burly, mustached fireman who seemed to have the end of a cigarette butt forever sticking out of the end of his mouth.

Henry drew himself up to Frank and widened his eyes. "Well, we'll have to make it quick then, won't we?"

Frank responded by turning around and maneuvering his frame up the side of the ladder staircase. Henry drew himself behind the car and Lance and John got into the driver's seat. The engines and sirens roared to life and the Little Whinging fire fighters rode off into the night, narrowly missing Mrs. Winters and her cocker spaniel who had just elected to make a convenience stop on the pavement outside the station.

It took little more than five minutes before the fire engine approached the neighborhood of its destination. Another block in the endless row of identical-looking semi-detached houses that had just been strung up all around the edge of what had once been a village. With all the growth and sprawl in Little Whinging, thought Henry to himself, you'd think we'd at least be able to get another engine. Henry didn't want to think too much about politicians, however: it just made his head spin and blood pressure rise rapidly. Calm down, his wife would say, you've enough to worry about as it is; there's no use going on about what can do absolutely nothing about.

The image of his wife lecturing over her half-moon sunglasses carried Henry through to the entrance to the neighborhood at which the call had been made. This street was normally as respectable as it was banal. House after house: _town_houses, he supposed they would call them, perhaps that's what the American developer would have preferred, with neatly kept lawns, the obligatory lines of rose bushes neatly cropped outside the wire-cut front windows. Lance took two wrong turnings (Henry struggled to keep his temper in check; after all, it was he who had just been thinking how much they all looked alike) before they finally came upon a neatly kept white and black sign that read: PRIVET DRIVE.

On this evening, this orderly image was disrupted, however, by a flock of neighbors, headed by a crowd of children that had gathered around a house near the corner. Henry had thought it a good sign that they hadn't seen any smoke from the nearby roads. He had doubted whether there had been any fire at all and conjured up the image of a suburban couple, the husband in tweed and polo shorts and the wife with her hair in rollers fretting over a pot roast that had disturbed an overly sensitive fire detector.

He was not prepared for the devastation that met his eye from a fire that had clearly already burnt itself out.

The engine finally stopped along the side of the road. Seeing that this was no false alarm, Lance and John quickly pulled down the fire hose while Frank and Stewart put on their gas helmets and ran towards the front door. It was Henry's job to get as much information as possible and that was clearly not going to be forthcoming from the people inside the house. He approached the silent crowd of neighbors: he was used to this; people always came out to see what was going on. Henry could see couples, dressed much as he had imagined, many with little children running distractedly in circles around their ankles, peering like vultures on the remains of their neighbor's house, lest some minutia of potential gossip escape their attention.

On this occasion, however, in keeping with the level of the devastation that their eyes, the neighbors were unusually quiet. Still, Henry caught bits and pieces of muttered conversation as he walked over.

"'Damndest thing I've ever seen this," croaked one elderly gentleman.

"Mind you," added his middle-aged female neighbor, in a toffee-nosed tone not unlike that of the woman on the television program, "they were a bit of an odd lot."

"I dunno," added a man in his thirties, dressed in a green and white Tottenham rugby shirt, and sporting an out-of-place Yorkshire accent, which seemed to make his neighbor wrinkle her nose up further at the very sound. "Seemed 'alright. Was in drills, wasn't he?"

"Never bothered us much," agreed his wife, a woman with curly blond hair and too much make-up for Henry's liking. "Mind you, there was that day a few years back when they had a whole load of barn owls all over their roof and garden; right strange if you ask me."

"Must have put too much bread out, then," replied the husband, "weren't anything."

"There was that nephew of theirs." The toffee-nosed women had re-inserted herself into the conversation. "Bit queer if you ask me. I mean that in the OED sense of the word, of course," she quickly added as several of her neighbors turned their heads, eager to refute any mention of the contrary in this neighborhood. "Straggly, unkempt, glasses always crooked."

"They didn't treat him right if you ask me," the Tottenham rugby shirt replied. "Always wondered if I oughtn't call in the social workers, I did." He suddenly drew himself up to full height, as if very pleased for thinking the idea.

"You's the one that said you thought they was 'alright," replied his wife.

The rugby shirt shrugged.

That was the end of the conversation as far as Henry was concerned; it was then that he came to within walking distance of the crowd. A lanky boy, of about fifteen or sixteen, with dark brown hair met him halfway. He looked as if he had seen a few scrapes and could get a bit mean if he wanted to, but now he was more terrified than anything.

"Please, sir," he said to Henry. "Is there anything I can do? My best mate was in there."

"That's what I'm here to ask," replied Henry, trying to sound confident and in command. Authority always reassured people at a time like this. He tried to sound a bit more like the newsman on the telly. You had to sound the part if you wanted the respect in these parts, his missus would say. "Does anyone know who was in this house at the time of this here... eh," Henry looked back at the carnage, "er... accident?"

"My best mate, sir," offered the boy a second time. "And his parents. And, er," he added, almost as an afterthought. "I think his cousin."

"Four people," said Henry. "What does your mate look like then?"

The boy described a boy slightly shorter than himself and much more heavy-set, with bright blond hair, his father, slightly taller, with a similar frame, and his much shorter mother. Only when prompted by Henry did he describe the cousin as about his own height and build.

"Did you see them in the house at the time of the fire?" asked Henry.

"I don't rightly know, sir, you see..."

"It was right odd, sir," the rugby shirt spoke up again. "The whole place was standing one minute and then it just seemed to smolder from the inside; ain't think I'd ever seen anything like it and I was in the Gulf and all."

"And then these green things shot up into the sky," the boy added quickly, "think they must have been fireworks or something. You can still see them up there."

Henry looked behind him to see the bleeding green remains of what seemed to be an exploded firework hanging in the sky just above the house; he wondered why they had not seen in on their approach from the truck; it must have been behind a tree. He'd never seen fireworks hang like that for so long as if there was something still keeping them up there: and the image they displayed. The green fireworks made a horrible face, like a skull, with a snake-like twisting line stretching out from what would have been the tongue. Henry felt the hairs on the back of his neck prick up as he looked at it.

"Steady yourself, mate," he said to himself. "You've got to show some leadership to these people."

He turned around to look at the boy in the eye, forcing himself to appear calm and in command of the situation. "What's your name, lad?"

"Piers, sir. Piers Polkiss."

"Well, Piers," Henry replied. "We'll find your friend, now don't worry."

Piers nodded weakly.

Henry turned his attention back to the remains of the house. He hoped he sounded more confident than he felt at that moment, because there seemed in fact little hope for the lad's portly companion if he had indeed been inside. It was the oddest thing he had seen in almost twenty years of service: the house itself had been burnt almost to a blackened crisp; only small wisps of smoke curled around what remained of the now gutted interior. Yet the garden itself remained untouched, down to the perfectly kept rose bushes in the front lawn. It was if someone had deliberately annihilated, with painstaking accuracy, only the rectangular lot of the one house, which, unbeknownst to Henry, was precisely what had happened. Even more amazing was that the adjacent semi-detached home was itself completely unscathed, down to the perfect red brick wall that had been shared between the two properties: its bewildered occupants were now standing unscratched on their front driveway.

Number 3 Privet Drive was left spotless but there was little left of what had once been Number 4.

* * *

><p><em>Ginny Weasley was lying in the Chamber of Secrets.<em>

_She stared up at the cavernous ceiling of the chamber, its roof extending far into darkness. Somewhere nearby she could hear the death groans of the Basilisk growing ever fainter. Nearer still she could hear the shuffling of feet._

_"It makes no difference," said a voice. "I prefer it this way. Just you and me, Harry Potter. Just you and me."_

_It was Tom Riddle's voice. And the person he was talking to was Harry. Ginny realized that it was she who had made him come down here. It was she who had opened the Chamber of Secrets. And just as Tom had said he would, Harry had come down after her - to rescue her. And had fallen completely into his trap. It had all been Ginny's fault._

_Harry didn't respond. But Ginny could hear his feet shuffling, stepping now and then on a wet puddle on the dank floor of the Chamber, now covered with a mixture of water, slime, and Basilisk blood. Harry had killed the Basilisk - the Basilisk that Ginny had unleashed. But now he still had to face Tom, a Tom that was growing stronger as she grew weaker._

_Somewhere far in the back of her mind, Ginny knew that something was not quite right. If Tom Riddle was still alive and strong, she shouldn't be conscious at all. But that thought did not have time to fully take form when Ginny heard Tom laugh again._

_"So ends the famous Harry Potter. Alone in the Chamber of Secrets, forsaken by his friends, defeated by the Dark Lord he so unwisely challenged. Your dear mudblood mother died to give you only twelve years of borrowed time. What a pathetic waste, and all because of one silly girl!"_

_"My parents died because_you _murdered them!" Harry's voice cried out somewhere to Ginny's right, breaking with effort and strain._

_Whether it was Voldemort's implication of her or hearing Harry's voice, she did not know, but it was at that moment that Ginny suddenly found the strength to roll over and sit upright. Every muscle in her body seemed weighted down like iron as she moved. Panting and heaving, she finally managed to stand to her feet. Her head immediately felt light and dizzy but she forced herself to shake it off as she lifted her head up to look Tom Riddle in the eye, the boy who had tricked, abused, and manipulated her in order to lure her hero, her crush - dare she say her friend? - to his death._

_Except that the face she met was not that of Tom Riddle. It was Lord Voldemort, a fully-grown Voldemort, dressed incongruously in Tom Riddle's Slytherin House robes. Something nagged once again at the back of her mind that this could not be but again that thought was quickly banished with the cold, dark fear that came from looking at Voldemort's revolting green complexion and snake-like red eyes. The bogeyman of her childhood nightmares was now more than a few meters away from her, his wand raised to strike._

_Voldemort ignored her. His eyes remained fixed on Harry._

_"Haven't you any last words, Harry? Your muggle mother begged and begged me not to take you, not to kill you; and now when you finally face Lord Voldemort, you have nothing to say to him?"_

_Harry remained silent, an expression of defiance shining brightly in his green eyes._

_"So be it, then," Voldemort replied, almost softly._

_Voldemort's face twisted and his red eyes seemed to bleed with hatred as he raised his wand and cried the curse that made Ginny and any decent wizard or witch in England freeze to the bone._

_"Avada Kedavra!"_

_A burst of green light shot from the end of Voldemort's wand. Only the light seemed to travel in slow motion in Harry's direction, passing right in front of where Ginny was now standing. Her eyes widened in horror as she saw the light move toward where Harry remained standing, fierce determination hardened in his jaw. The light grew nearer and nearer reflecting the green in Harry's eyes like pools of liquid jade._

_"Finite Incantatem!" cried Harry, his wand held straight out in front of him. A beam of red light shot out and met Voldemort's just as it was creeping along to Harry. The beams locked and, for a time, Voldemort's green light seemed to move back toward them, but then its direction reversed to move once again toward Harry, while the red light emanating from Harry's wand moved slowly back. Ginny could see that, in a few moments, it would reach Harry himself._

_Ginny watched as sweat formed in rivulets all over Harry's face. The veins in his forehead bulged with the strain of willing his curse forward. But it was no use. Ginny saw Harry trembling as the light moved closer to him. In a few moments, the light would reach Harry's body._

_Ginny suddenly took a step forward. It was a great effort just as sitting up had been but she managed. She was even closer to the green light now and she could feel its intensity vibrating throughout her body, just as her first broomstick had felt when she'd mounted it, or the jolt she had suffered from the lamp in her father's garage when he had been teaching her about eckeltricity. She didn't dare move any further._

_"Ginny!" Harry suddenly cried. "Help me! I can't hold out much longer!" Harry spoke the words through clenched teeth, his eyes never leaving the light of his wand and the connection with Voldemort._

_Ginny tried to step forward again but she couldn't quite bring herself to do it. She seemed frozen to the spot, mesmerized by the light. She felt in the pocket of her robes for her wand, but then she realized that Tom would never have let her take it into the Chamber with her. It was still lying harmlessly in the first floor bathroom, where he had told her to leave it. There was nothing she could do now._

_"What's the matter, Ginny?" Ginny froze as she heard Voldemort's revoltingly high-pitched voice, like a snake trying to speak a second language. She forced herself to look at his disgusting face which was now staring directly at her. It seemed that, unlike Harry, Voldemort was unconcerned about taking his attention away from the link of their wands, and Ginny immediately saw that the distraction had done nothing to prevent the continuing advance of the deadly green beam. The green light now lit up Harry's robes; it seemed almost on top of him._

_"Can't you save your friend?"_

_Ginny stared back at Voldemort but felt powerless to respond. She took a step back involuntarily._

_"Ginny, help, I need you!" cried Harry._

_Ginny felt as if her heart would explode out of her chest at his words. It was the very thing she had dreamed he would say but now she feared that those words would be his last. She desperately considered flinging herself into the wand's path. It was what Harry would have done for her, was_doing_for her._

_But she couldn't bring herself to move forward any further. The light was now fairly crackling with energy and she imagined the pain that would seer through her body when it touched her. She turned her head to Harry just in time to see the light slam into his chest. Harry let out a scream of agony as the light consumed him._

_The Boy Who Lived had breathed his last._

_Worse even than Harry's death throes was another even more chilling sound, like the cries of a hundred Dementors joined in an unholy chorus. Voldemort's chilling laugh of delight echoed throughout the chamber and Ginny forced herself to turn and look at the manic glee spreading across his face. The laughter grew in volume. Ginny stuck her fingers in her ears but the sound continued unrelenting - louder and louder still, until..._

Ginny woke up. Her arms flailed about desperately as she searched for her wand, but succeeded only in knocking the goblet of water she had placed by her bedside crashing to the floor.

Her heart was still pounding in her chest. She forced herself to look up to the high ceiling of her room, still enchanted to look like the ripples of water from the small pond in the back garden of the Burrow, a spell her father had cast her for her ninth birthday, when the family could afford to buy little else.

The ceiling of her room. That meant she was in her bed, in her home. And then the memories came flooding back to her. Ginny blinked away the tears of relief in her eyes as she realized that Tom Riddle's plan had not succeeded; the diary had been destroyed; and Harry Potter had been just as great, no, greater, than she herself had told Tom.

The shock of the nightmare and the excitement of the relief she felt from its passing slowly ebbed away and Ginny felt her thundering heart finally begin to slow down. It wasn't until then that she realized that her nightgown and her top and bottom sheets were soaked through with sweat. She could feel the moisture continuing to seep through the thick red hair that she had last year let grow below her shoulders and enchanted into long curls. She dug around on the floor for her wand and finally found it stuck under a pile of old socks where it must have rolled when she had knocked over her goblet.

"_Lumos._"

A small light emerged from the tip of Ginny's wand, enough so that she could see the disheveled blankets, half fallen onto the floor. She got out of bed, feeling the cold, damp wet of the soaked nightgown against her body and pointed her wand at the sheets, absent-mindedly flicking her wand. The sheets and blankets neatly folded themselves into order and the top sheet tucked itself down. She next turned her attention to her sheets and clothes which, with another spell, magically dried themselves. She climbed back into bed, feeling the reassuring comfort of the soft bedclothes which she had earlier enchanted to let off a very slight smell of lavender whenever she pressed against them.

Ginny's head felt heavy and she wanted to fall back to sleep but as with any bad dream, she forced herself to stay awake long enough not to relive the nightmare. Despite the warmth of the sheets and the summer breeze blowing in through her open window, she felt an involuntary shudder. She decided she needed a distraction. She still held her wand tightly in her left hand and raised it again:

"_Accio_ Mr. Sunshine_."_

Mr. Sunshine was a muggle child's toy that her father had come across in his work at the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts office and given to Ginny for her fifth birthday. Mr. Sunshine was originally a large bright yellow plastic head, with rays of sun shining out of the side, and two eyes, a nose, and a mouth. Somewhere along the line Mr. Sunshine had developed a habit of floating over the bed of its owner, drawing the attention of Mr. Weasley's office and a memory charm for the frightened muggle child and his parents. Mr. Weasley had taken a liking to the toy. Not for the first and last time, rather than returning it to its original unenchanted state, he had bewitched it further to light up and chatter in a persistently perky tone, fitting to its name. Mr. Sunshine had terrified a younger Ginny who had pulled her bed covers over her face in fright the first time she had heard it. This misfortune had earned Mr. Weasley a harsh reprisal from Ginny's mother. Over the years, however, Ginny had grown used to Mr. Sunshine even now he looked rather worse for wear. Mr. Sunshine also knew things about Ginny few people knew, such as the temper tantrums in which she indulged herself when no one else was around. Mr. Sunshine's constantly happy manner often times had a way of getting on her nerves but on this night she was grateful of his familiarity.

"Yes, Virginia?" The yellow orb wandered over.

"Mr. Sunshine, why am I having these dreams? Is it because of him?"

"Who, Virginia?"

Ginny thought for a moment. She wasn't sure whom she had meant - Harry or Tom Riddle?

"Harry Potter," she decided.

"I couldn't say," replied Mr. Sunshine. "You must ask yourself that question."

Mr. Sunshine didn't really have a mind of his own and could say only a very few things, most of which consisted of throwing Ginny's questions back for her to ponder. Her father had deliberately enchanted him this way. He had often explained to her that most questions were those one could answer oneself with a little thought, but it was good to wonder out loud, anyway. Ginny admitted that for one with so few words, there was a lot Mr. Sunshine had taught her.

"I see. Good night, Mr. Sunshine."

"Good night, Virginia, and I must say it is a little past your bed time."

Mr. Sunshine would have to be up-up-maded, or whatever it was Muggles did with their eckeltronic machines, Ginny reflected as she waved her wand and watched him float into the corner of her room, his light slowly fading.

Ginny looked at the tip of her wand and its tiny light. She remembered how, as a child, she and her brother Ron had first learned to make their wands give off light and spend night after summer night chasing each other around the trees of their garden playing lightning tag. She tried to focus on that happy memory as she flicked her wand once more to make the light go out and fell immediately into a dreamless sleep.

Ginny would not have slept so easily had she known that at that very moment the vision from her nightmare was nary a few hundred meters from the outside of her house.

* * *

><p>The wizard who had once been Tom Marvolo Riddle stood at the edge of a small enchanted forest that kept the Burrow hidden from the curious eyes of any wandering Muggles. Lord Voldemort watched as the distant light in a window near the roof of the Weasley's ramshackle estate was slowly extinguished. He kept his face hidden beneath billowing black robes. He had stood in the same way on this very spot for the past several hours. The most feared creature in the wizarding world had chosen this night to stand and merely watch the household of one of the oldest wizarding families, a family whose senior members had spent most of their lives resisting his inexorable conquest, a family whose younger generation had been fed a steady diet of warnings concerning his wicked crimes and miraculous demise, and had accepted the call to arms to prevent his return at a time when most witches and wizards still slept easily in the false security of his apparent downfall.<p>

Voldemort allowed himself the luxury of a smile. It was pleasing to know that the most powerful resistance to his rule came from a family so wretchedly impoverished as the Weasleys, a family that struggled to keep their enchanted house from imminent collapse, a family that had an ever-decreasing circle of friends and supporters. There was nothing and no one protecting the Weasleys tonight while they slept, save for Voldemort's own practiced patience. Voldemort had learned in the days when he had not yet shed his dirty Muggle father's name that real power came only with patience and control. Even without the support of his Death Eaters, Voldemort knew that a flick of his wand could bring the Weasley's pathetic little world to a crashing end, but this was not the time. He would wait, wait until the entire wizarding world once again shuddered at the sound of his name, when every last token of resistance had been quelled, either through violence or fear, and the Weasleys were the only ones left to resist, and then he would crush them and enjoy the sweetness of complete power.

For now, Voldemort was satisfied in knowing that the Weasleys had an important role to play in his ever-expanding plans. He would use their own pathetic courage and loyalty against them. He listened to an owl in the background, hooting an insistent and growingly anxious warning to all of the sleeping animals in the forest that they were in the presence of unspeakable evil. Voldemort considered striking it down; indeed, part of him very much wanted to do so, but this, too, was a lesson in patience. It might be satisfying to kill the one dissident voice in a largely blissful and ignorant forest, but it was infinitely more pleasing to reflect on how isolated that voice was. It reminded him of the insistent calls of the Weasleys, and that pathetic muggle-loving fool Dumbledore, never loud enough to awake the sleeping wizarding world.

Not at least until it would be much too late.

No, there was no one who would bother Voldemort tonight. The Weasleys themselves had no idea what stood at the foot of their back garden. For all of the school awards and trophies plied on them by Dumbeldore, none of them were possessed with the insight to perceive his presence. Unlike Harry Potter, they had no scar that would alert them whenever he was near.

None, that was, except for one.

Voldemort reached into the folds of his robes and pulled out an extremely old, cloth-covered volume. It had tears and holes from when it had once been destroyed, until Voldemort had re-enchanted it and discovered the secrets it contained. Voldemort opened it up to the first page and read the faded, blotched lettering:

T.M. RIDDLE

He paused ruefully as he considered the sixteen-year-old prefect at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry who had long ago purchased this diary, enchanted it, and trapped a memory of himself in its pages. He had been talented, very talented, and already very powerful, but he had never been blessed with the lessons of failure from which an older Voldemort now benefited. He inwardly cursed the arrogance of Tom Marvolo Riddle and the stupidity of Lucius Malfoy, who had brought him back to life. It was a threat to his plans, to be sure, but it was a threat that Voldemort himself was determined to turn to his advantage.

Voldemort felt a pleasant slither of movement around his ankles. An enormously long snake curled around his feet, its tongue flickering as it brushed its head in a horrible comedy of affection against the side of Voldemort's robes.

"Yes, Nagini," he said aloud, his own voice high-pitched and snake-like, but still in English rather than Parseltongue; he would not be giving the snake any commands yet. "We will be leaving soon. But first I must hear whether tonight's victory is yet complete."

It tried even the practiced patience of Voldemort that he must sit here on this night of all nights while he waited for others to carry out the more urgent aspects of his plan. But it was the only way he had been able to break the power of the old magic to which that great fool Dumbledore had always been devoted. He imagined the defeated look in the old man's eyes when he realized what Voldemort had finally achieved. Perhaps it would even be the burden that would finally finish him.

There was an almost imperceptible shuffling of fabric to Voldemort's immediate right. Another wizard appeared, dressed in the same plain black as the Dark Lord, his face hidden beneath the folds of his hood. Voldemort said nothing as the wizard turned to face him. He fell down his knees at Voldemort's feet and opened his robes to reveal a black mark, etched into his skin just above the forearm. Had Henry Middleton been present, he would have recognized it as the same sign that had been shot into the sky over Number 4 Privet Drive.

It was the Dark Mark. The sign that marked the wizard's loyalty to the Dark Lord. The sign that marked him as a Death Eater.

Nagini immediately uncurled himself from the Dark Lord's ankles and coiled his head at the sight of this newcomer. The wizard flinched as the snake bared its fangs and hissed angrily at his head. He imagined he feel the curiously cold spray of its deadly venom.

Voldemort opened his mouth slowly and breathed several high-pitched sounds of an ancient-sounding language that seemed to mirror the slithering motion of the snake. Immediately, Nagini closed his mouth and returned meekly to the feet of his master like a pet dog that had just been ordered to heal.

"Rise," Voldemort ordered.

The wizard obeyed.

"Does Nagini frighten you?"

"No, no, of course not, my lord." The wizard took a small step back.

Voldemort curled his lips in a chilling smile. "Do not lie to Lord Voldemort, Harrell, for he always knows."

Harrell stood up but did not respond. From underneath his cloak, Voldemort could see the man's eyes darting back and forth in a mixture of anticipation, excitement and fear.

"I sense you have something to report."

"Indeed, my lord." Harrell's excitement seemed barely contained. Voldemort hoped the information had been worth the wait.

"Were you successful?"

"Indeed, my lord."

Voldemort drew in a small breath. He moved hesitantly toward Harrell who took a much larger step back.

"Are you sure; are you _very_ sure?"

"Yes, my lord. The Death Eaters carried out the plan as you instructed. We were not seen by the Muggles. The house was completely destroyed."

"And the boy?"

"After the others had moved in, I moved in personally to check, my lord. There can be no mistake."

"And the Dark Mark?"

"We shot it into the sky just as you instructed, my lord. The Muggles saw it at once but they did not know what it meant; in fact, they thought that it was some of kind of rocket, fire- fire- "

"A firework, Harrell."

"Yes, my Lord. I had forgotten - " His voice immediately trailed off.

"That I was raised by Muggles?" Voldemort's jaw set much more firmly.

"No, of course not, my Lord." A look of fright came over Harrell's features. "I merely meant that I - I - that your gift for knowledge is so much greater, so much broader than - "

"Liar!" spat Voldemort. Beside him, Nagini hissed as if on cue. "However," he continued, his expression softening slightly. "I have no interest in your _memory_, Harrell. Pray continue with your account."

"We did not set off the full mark, my Lord, as you instructed. Otherwise, the Muggles would have grown suspicious. The sign has already faded."

"And you were not seen?"

"No, my Lord. That is why it has taken so long for me to come into your presence. We changed into Muggle clothing and blended into the crowd. We watched the Muggle fire engine and then the Muggle police come and go. Finally, when it was safe, we returned."

"And the ministry?"

"No sign."

Voldemort smiled more broadly. Of course, it would never occur to them to doubt the abilities of the great Albus Dumbledore. They would arrive the next morning to collect the boy for school, and discover... Voldemort imagined the shock and fear that would ensue throughout the wizarding world. He basked in its sensation as one might the warm sun on a rare English summer day.

"Very well, we will leave any memory charms to the Ministry. You have done well, Harrell," Voldemort said, watching Harrell exhale a sigh of relief he himself had not realized he was holding. "And Lord Voldemort always rewards those who please him. But please consider, consider carefully, whether there is anything, any small fact, which you may have overlooked."

Harrell seemed to hesitate.

"You should tell Lord Voldemort," Voldemort cooed softly. "It is much better to say it now than later."

"There was perhaps one small thing."

Voldemort leaned closer to Harrell but kept his expression neutral. Fear had its time and place. As with everything else, it was a question of patience and timing. And his plan could only succeed if Harrell felt the proper mixture of fear and comfort.

"Yes?"

"There was a dog, my Lord. A large black dog. It appeared in front of the house shortly before the other Death Eaters struck. I - I suppose... It was probably just a Muggle pet, perhaps the boy's..."

Voldemort considered this information for a moment, before his face broke into a half smile. "Perhaps not a pet, I think. Still, I imagine it is of no consequence, so long, Harrell, as you are _sure -_ "

"My Lord, I swear it."

"I expect no less. You may go now. I will call for you later."

"My Lord." Harrell bowed and then disapparated.

Voldemort stared once more at the now dark and silent house. It was just as well that his plan tonight had succeeded. The Weasley girl had been too frightened, as usual, too timid, to put her precious little head in harm's way. But this time, there was something that had made Voldemort more uneasy, the sense that she was growing somehow stronger, more resistant, more -. Voldemort struggled with the emphemerality of Ginny Weasley's confused emotional state. There was something there he had not been able to grasp, and it worried him.

Voldemort dismissed these worries from his mind. They weren't important now and he of all people knew how important it was not to dwell on the ghosts of the past, especially when it concerned worries that had long since proven unfounded. Still, he allowed himself a smile again; it had been almost a pity that things had gone so well to plan for if they had not, his next trap would have been even more cunning, more intricate, more slowly pleasurable, to spring.

With that last thought, Voldemort slowly unfolded his arms, and disapparated.

Nagini hissed for a moment on the now empty ground and turned back into the forest to find the new trail of his master.

And almost immediately the forest quieted again. Even the owl stopped hooting, and a deceptive calm stretched over the sleeping inhabitants of the Burrow.

* * *

><p>Henry Middleton lay awake in bed listening to his wife breathing in and out beside him.<p>

He envied her.

It wasn't the first time he had seen death in a career of more than twenty years and it probably would not be the last. Knowing this did not make him feel any easier. He remembered the face of the neighbors as they brought the bodies out, especially that tall, skinny boy. The boy had still held out hope, of course, for his best mate had still not been found. That had been strange, thought Henry. In fact, nothing about the whole thing had made sense. What was that program his wife was always watching on the telly? The two American agents: the skinny guy and his red head partner. Seemed more like something he'd seen on there. He just could not get his head around how the one house had imploded while the other side was unscathed. And that firework that seemed to stay up in the sky: Henry didn't like to think.

He needn't have worried, of course. The following day he would be visited at the fire station by a short, scruffy looking man dressed in very odd clothing. The following night he would sleep peacefully, remembering nothing of what he had seen the previous day.

And of course there had been the bodies. That had been the part Henry could never forget any day. He knew as soon as he turned around and tried to sound brave to that skinny lad that he would find them there. The bodies had been blackened, charred, hardly recognizable and very much dead. All three of them looked like they had been crouched under the kitchen table with their hands stretched out over their cowering bodies. If Henry had not known that they had died from the fire, he would have been sure they had gone from pure fright. It was those expressions that he could not put out of his mind, try as he might. He remembered the middle-aged man, portly, with a great thick moustache, and nary the remains of a neck on his head and the woman, his wife obviously, her hair still in plastic curls that had melted on the top of her head in the flames and smoke, a simpering look of horror etched forever on her face.

And then there was the boy: the nephew, wasn't it? He had looked different from the others: tall, skinny, with what once must have bright green eyes, as nearer as Henry could tell. And then there was that scar on his forehead, shaped like a bolt of lightning, the scar none of the neighbors could explain though all them could remember.

The boy the police would later identify as Harry Potter.


	2. The Escape

**The Silent Siege Original**

**Chapter 2**

**The Escape**

The following morning, Constable Daniel Peters of the Metropolitan Police rubbed his eyes in weariness as he listened once more to the man's story. Last night, someone had evidently forgotten to tell the Fisher's dog that mating season had finished several months ago and that barking shrilly into the night was unlikely to attract the right kind of attention. Despite having three cups of coffee this morning, Peters wondered very much whether he could make it through the day. At times, he believed it was merely a case of mind over matter but, at other moments - such as when listening to this drunk vagrant who was now sitting on a bench near a busy platform at King's Cross Station - Peters felt a crippling fatigue descend over his body, starting from his head. Peters felt as though a blacksmith was ceaselessly pounding his skull with an anvil.

"Your name again, sir, please." Peters tried to stifle a yawn.

"I already told you once, guv'nor."

"Then perhaps you could tell me again for the record." Peters managed to look the vagrant in the eye, daring him to accuse Peters of not paying attention the first time.

"Barnaby. Thomas Barnaby."

"Your, er, occupation, Mr. Barnaby." Peters' eyes fell on the large plastic bag full of recyclable bottles that rested on the bench to Barnaby's right.

Barnaby moved closer to Peters so that Peters could feel a wave of noxious breath sweep over him, and said in a conspiratorial tone.

"I'm on the vanguard, guv'nor, the front lines."

"The front lines of what, sir?" Peters tried to remain as professional as possible.

"I'm protectin' us all, from _them_." Barnaby's eyes widened meaningfully.

"And who, sir, are _they?"_

Barnaby stared wide-eyed at Peters and pointed a dirt-stained finger at the sky. "_Them_, guv'nor. The aliens. Little-green men. They're coming, guv'nor, don't you mistake that; they're coming an' they're gonna take us_all_. There won' be a man, woman, or child what's safe in this country."

"I see, sir." Barnaby checked a box on his notebook. "Self-employed." He looked up. "And what, Mr. Barnaby, can I help you with today?"

Barnaby pointed a bony finger straight at Peters, causing the constable to take a step back in surprise. As he did so, he noticed that Barnaby was aiming ever so slightly to his left. He looked back. There were loads of people milling about, some rushing for trains, others looking around, lost, but nothing seemed to stand out in particular. In fact, it seemed that Barnaby was pointing straight at a solid wall between platforms nine and ten.

"I seen 'em," Barnaby went on. "A whole family, mother, father, two older lookin' sons what was with 'em, twins they looked like, but that's their cover, see? And another boy an' girl with 'em. Hair all flamin' red."

"Many of our citizens have red hair, Mr. Barnaby."

Barnaby gave a small sigh and regarded Peters as a teacher might a truculent pupil. "They're all dressed all funny like, like they dunno how to, which, o' course," Barnaby's eyes lit up with excitement. "They don', do they, 'cause they in't really people, at all, guv'nor, you follow me?"

Peters' eyes watered over as he tried once again to stifle a yawn.

"They're _them_," Barnaby said meaningfully, "pretendin' to be just like that."

"I'm not sure, sir, that I can do very much with a report about people with red hair dressed strangely. Not every - "

Barnaby moved his hand as if to touch Peters' forearm causing the constable to recoil.

"Listen, guv'nor, that's at all. They walked up to that there wall, with all their luggage trolleys an' all an' blow me down, they walked straight through an' vanished."

"I see, sir." Peters paused. "That wouldn't be an open bottle of liquor you have there, would it, sir?"

Barnaby looked down at a half-empty bottle of Scotch ill concealed in a paper bag.

Peters folded his arms. "I feel it my duty to warn you, Mr. Barnaby, that open bottles of liquor are not permitted inside King's Cross Station."

Barnaby wagged his finger emphatically once again. "Now listen here, guv'nor, my line o' work's not easy now, right, an' sometimes I need a little nip now and again to get me goin' in the mornin' but I seen what I seen."

Peters looked about to interrupt but Barnaby went on.

"That's not all. They're at the highest levels of gov'ment now. There's this funny chap what wears a bowler hat, with white hair and sideburns, what goes in an' talks to the PM 'imself at Downin' Street, just like them red heads, dressed not quite right, like he dunno how to do it. I got pictures an' all."

Peters felt his headache throbbing ever more urgently. This was going to be a very difficult morning, indeed.

On the other side of platform nine-and-three-quarters, the very same family of red heads was loading their luggage onto the Hogwarts Express. Ron Weasley was preparing for his sixth year at Hogwarts and his sister Ginny her fifth. Their older twin brothers, Fred and George, had just graduated from Hogwarts the previous year and much to the consternation of their mother, had spent most of the summer working to start up a joke shop in Diagon Alley, the wizarding shopping arcade in London.

Mrs. Weasley was fussing over the buttons on Ginny's cloak.

"Please stop fidgeting, Mum. People will see us. I'm fifteen years old."

Mrs. Weasley seemed oblivious to her daughter's growing embarrassment. "So you are. Just think, Arthur," she said to her husband, who was busy helping Ron load his trunk onto the train. "Our little girl, taking her O. this year. I can still remember when - "

"Mum!" cried Ginny. "Please don't."

"Oh, go on, Mum," said George snickering. "It's been ages since you told the one about the time she made her pacifier Disapparate."

"Days at least," added Fred.

Mrs. Weasley looked irritably at her two twin sons. "One would think that you two would finally grow out of this habit of teasing your sister."

"But we never get to see her, anymore," Fred protested. "We have to make up for all the lost time, don't we, Ginny?"

Ginny did not condescend herself to respond.

"Seriously, Gin," said George. "What is it with the hair?" He traced his finger in the air to mimic the shape of her curls.

"I like it," replied Ginny, shooting a menacing look at her brother. "It's different. Just like Hogwarts without the two of you."

"The real question," said Fred, "is does _Harry_like it?"

Ginny ducked her head so that none of her brothers could see her blush but it was too late. Fred and George smiled at each other. Another victory had been scored.

"I think it's lovely," added Mrs. Weasley, glancing reprovingly at George. "And I don't care if Harry _does_like it."

Mr. Weasley tried to shoot a warning glance in his wife's direction but she ploughed on.

"He's such a poor, sweet, dear, _lonely_ boy. And he _would_ make such a wonderful addition to our family."

The last word had just emerged from Mrs. Weasley's mouth when she noticed that Ginny had turned the color of a blood orange and disappeared into the train.

"Oh, dear," she said, as Fred and George sniggered. "Perhaps I went a bit too far."

"It's OK, Mum." Ron planted a goodbye kiss on his mother's cheek. "Ginny knows that it's always been the role of mothers to humiliate their children in public. She won't take it personally."

Mrs. Weasley replied with an anxious look, and then held Ron by his arms. "You are the oldest now, Ron." She shot an angry glance at Fred and George. "Not that it will make much difference, of course. Please promise me that you'll take good care of your sister."

Ron nodded.

Just as Ron was about to board the train, he heard a scurry of footsteps approaching him from behind. The whole family turned around to see a girl of Ron's own age, of about medium-height with bushy brown hair that fell haphazardly around her face as she ran.

Ron's eyes lit up. "Hermione!"

Hermione smiled briefly and for a slight instant Ron felt something descend in his stomach. But Hermione's smile quickly faded and she adopted the reflective, quizzical expression that she used whenever she was trying to solve a problem, which was most often.

"Ron, thank goodness I found you. Oh, hello, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley," she said, with a smile that was brief but genuine. "I can't see Harry anywhere. I thought he must have been with you."

Mr. Weasley shook his head. "I'm afraid not, Hermione. Perhaps he already boarded the train."

Hermione bit her lip anxiously. "But we arranged to meet him here on the platform."

Ron frowned, too, and also began to look anxious.

Mrs. Weasley put a reassuring arm on Hermione's shoulder and addressed both her and Ron. "Now don't you worry, dears, I expect the Ministry has made other arrangements."

"But, Mum," said Ron. "Don't you think he would have told us?"

"He may not have had time. Now, the best thing for the two of you to do is to get on board the train. It will be leaving soon. There's nothing any of us can do about it now."

Both Ron and Hermione nodded reluctantly and moved walked onto the train. A few moments later, their faces emerged from one of the compartment windows. Ginny was with them on the other side. She smiled and waved and tried to show them that everything was better. All three of them kept waving until the whistle sounded and train started on its way slowly out of sight.

Mrs. Weasley sighed and turned back to her husband.

"Only two more years now, Arthur. I'll miss coming here to see them off."

"You could always have another child," suggested George.

A look of momentary panic flickered across Mr. Weasley's face until he remembered whom he was talking to.

"Oh, I do hope Harry's all right, really," said Mrs. Weasley.

Mr. Weasley laid a reassuring arm around her back. "I shouldn't worry, dear. The Ministry will have everything planned." He turned to Fred and George. "Coming, lads?"

"Sorry, love to," replied George, "but business calls. Back to the shop. We can take the Knight tube from Platform 10 5/8."

"Oh, do be careful," cautioned Mrs. Weasley, "and don't eat any strange looking gruel. You can always Apparate back for supper."

"Right, Mum," said Fred. "Don't worry."

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley turned back to the barrier as the twins left in the other direction.

"So you're gonna take me in, guv'nor, is that it, eh, eh?"

Peters rubbed his forehead, trying to massage the pain away. He looked around. A crowd was starting to gather. He stared at several onlookers and cleared his throat. That caused the majority to move away.

He turned to Barnaby. "That isn't really necessary, Mr. Barnaby, if you'd just - "

"Look, guv'nor." Barnaby poked his finger in the direction of Peters' stomach once again. "I'm gonna say this one last time. There - "

Barnaby stopped in mid-sentence, his eyes bulging. He tried to make a sound with his mouth but the throat got caught on his saliva. He pointed a shaky finger behind Peters. "Blimey! It's them! They - they - just bloody well - " Barnaby cowered down lower on the bench, his eyes never leaving the two red-headed aliens who had just emerged out of the wall where they had disappeared a half an hour earlier.

Peters turned around to see a middle-aged couple with red hair walking down the platform toward them. He tensed himself in case Barnaby tried anything. The couple stared at Barnaby in confusion.

"Is he all right?" asked the man.

Barnaby whimpered.

Peters turned around slightly, one eye still on Barnaby. "I'm very sorry, sir. This gentleman appears to be a bit disturbed at the moment. I'd just make your way along, sir, if I were you."

"I see," replied the man. "Yes - yes, we will."

Peters turned around to look at the man and suddenly did a double take.

There _was_ something a bit odd about them. The man was wearing an inside-out bright orange sweater over a mustard yellow shirt with beige trousers that ended just above his ankles. The woman was wearing a long maroon evening dress and a bright pink sweater. He looked back down at Barnaby. Where did all of these people come from?

"A bit of a close call back there," Mrs. Weasley whispered to her husband. "They've put that new bench in there. We'll have to be more careful from now on."

Mr. Weasley nodded. "A good thing we were dressed in Muggle clothing." He turned around over his shoulder. The Muggle policeman and that odd man on the bench selling long-necked flowerpots were engrossed in agitated conversation again. Neither of them noticed the Weasleys turn the corner and vanish into thin air.

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley re-apparated in their living room.

"Perhaps I should check with the Ministry about Harry, just to be - " Mr. Weasley stopped dead in his tracks. Albus Dumbledore's likeness was already staring at him out of the fireplace.

Mrs. Weasley gave a small gasp and walked over to her husband.

"Albus?" said Mr. Weasley. "This is an unexpected surprise. I'm sorry we weren't here when you first called."

Dumbledore did not reply for a moment. His eyes were downcast. Mrs. Weasley had never thought of Dumbledore as being old, even though he had been headmaster since their own school days but he suddenly seemed to look ancient, as though he could hardly continue to go on much longer.

"Molly, Arthur," he finally said. "My friends."

Mrs. Weasley gasped. A tear slowly welled in Dumbledore's azure blue eye and fell slowly down his cheek. She had never seen him look so utterly defeated, not even when James and Lily had died.

"Albus?" Mr. Weasley repeated.

Dumbledore swallowed. "The Ministry went to Privet Drive this morning to collect Harry."

Mrs. Weasley suddenly felt a horrible sensation in the pit of her stomach.

Dumbledore continued. "The house was - has been destroyed," he finished slowly.

"Harry?" Mrs. Weasley asked.

Dumbledore shook his head. "The Ministry went to check with the Muggle police. They found his body. I'm so very, very sorry."

Mrs. Weasley let out a small cry and began to sob. She fell back against Mr. Weasley, who simply stood there with a stunned expression on his face.

"The children," Mrs. Weasley forced herself to look up between sobs. "They've already left - "

Dumbledore held up his hand. "Minerva will take Ron and Hermione aside when they arrive. She is the head of their house."

Mrs. Weasley nodded.

"Albus, surely, how could this have happened?" Mr. Weasley finally found his voice. He was protected. Isn't there any other possibility?"

Dumbledore looked up and for a moment Mr. Weasley thought he saw a flicker of hope the old man's sad eyes. "I'm not sure how this could have happened. The Ministry is investigating one or two possibilities but I'm afraid there is very little hope."

The three of them stood there for a moment before Dumbledore's face slowly faded. Mr. Weasley suddenly noticed how quiet the house was. There were none of the usual sounds of children playing or laughing that still filled the summer time air of the Burrow, only the low soft moans of Mrs. Weasley's quiet grief for the boy they had all come to love.

* * *

><p>Later that day, Harry Potter woke to feel a rush of foul-smelling air spread over his face.<p>

In the second before he opened his eyes, his mind struggled through a list of possibilities: He was passed out in the infirmary and Madame Pomfrey was attempting to feed him a dose of some noxious-smelling medicine; he had fainted during Care of Magical Creatures and Hagrid had tried to revive him with a dose of Flesh Eating Slug Repellant; Vincent Crabbe had broken into his dormitory and had decided to get a little affectionate...

But none of these proved correct. Harry opened his eyes and saw two enormous eyes and two oversized nostrils that belonged to a large, sharp nose.

"Aaaaahhhh!"

The owner of the eyes and nose reared back and regarded Harry with an almost menacing disapprobation.

Harry felt a warm nighttime breeze blow over his face. He wasn't in Privet Drive, nor was he in his dormitory at Hogwarts and he was slowly coming to the realization that, for reasons he could not immediately grasp, Buckbeak the Hippogriff was now eyeing him closely, his pride clearly wounded by Harry's unceremonious reaction to his friendly nudge.

"Harry!"

Another voice that Harry recognized. He forced himself to sit up and saw his godfather Sirius Black walking over to him. Sirius looked very much as Harry felt, like he had seen better days. His hair was mangy and disheveled with an increasing number of gray-colored flecks. He was unshaven, lacking the time or inclination to even enchant his stubble into submission. There was still a drawn, hardened look about his features, just as when Harry had first met him as a recently escaped convict from the wizard prison Azkaban. Sirius had been on the run for more than two years now and he had spent most of that time as a large, black dog. Only a few people knew of Sirius' innocence.

But now there a slight color in Sirius' pale cheeks and his voice sounded a note of relief. "Thank the goddess you're alright; with all the smoke, I was afraid..." His voice trailed off at the puzzled frown on Harry's face. "Don't worry about that now," he said. "We'll get you back to Hogwarts and proper medical attention as soon as - " Sirius stopped in mid-sentence, unsure of how best to finish. "Well... as soon as we can."

Harry watched as a look of frightened uncertainty flashed briefly across Sirius' face before he attempted to conceal it. They looked at each other for a moment before Sirius said:

"You must be thirsty." He reached over a grabbed a large bowl. "I'll fetch some water."

With Sirius gone, Harry took a first look at his surroundings. He was lying on a makeshift Muggle sleeping bag in the open night air. It was still warm, but much damper than his home in Privet Drive. A gentle fog was rolling in from the craggy mountains that encircled the small valley where Sirius had set up a camp. All around Harry on the ground were craggy boulders, imbedded in the Earth, and Sirius had laid Harry's sleeping bag in a diagonal position to avoid them. With the exception of a small patch of earth that had obviously been enchanted into soft bluegrass, the ground around Harry was completely covered in heather. He could just make out a faint light from a small house in the distance and another from appeared to be a small boat on a distant loch. A dying patch of light on the horizon marked the place where the sun was either about to rise or had just set. From the temperature and the direction of the breeze blowing through Harry's hair, he supposed it was just after sunset. Buckbeak was tied to a boulder next to Harry's sleeping bag, curiously pawing the heather with his right hoof, illuminated by the light of a small fire next to them. Ahead of him, Harry could see Sirius returning from a small pond with a bowl full of water.

"It's mountain spring water so I imagine it's quite safe," he said. "Still, just to be sure..."

He pointed his wand at the water.

"_Avada Kedavra."_

Harry winced as a stream of green light flashed from Sirius' wand and caused the water to bubble for a moment.

"There," said Sirius. "That should sterilize it." He handed the bowl to Harry.

Harry picked it up, the light from the fire casting his reflection onto the water, then immediately screamed and dropped the bowl onto the ground, causing the contents to spill all over the rocks.

The reflection that had looked back at him was Dudley Dursley's.

"I'm... I'm sorry," said Harry.

"It's all right," said Sirius. "I'll just fetch some more, not to worry."

Harry rubbed his suddenly bleach blond hair in confusion and Sirius returned with some more water, sterilized it again and gave it to Harry. It tasted surprisingly fresh and clean. Harry hadn't realized how thirsty he had been until he swallowed the contents in a few large gulps. He handed the bowl back to Sirius.

"Does that feel better?"

"I think so." Harry shook his head which was slowly beginning to clear.

Sirius lent over Harry. "Do you remember anything at all?" he asked gently.

Harry looked puzzled again. Memories began to stir on the edge of his consciousness. "I - I'm not sure." He kept his head down then suddenly looked up at Sirius. "Where _are_we? What happened? How long have I - "

"Steady on." Sirius put a hand on Harry's shoulder. "We're in a safe place." He looked around. "I hope. We're south of Hogwarts. You've been out for almost twenty-four hours."

"_Twenty-four hours!"_

Sirius nodded. "As for what happened..." His voice trailed off.

And then it all came back to Harry. Sirius didn't say another word; he could read it in the expression on Harry's face. The shock, the surprise, the fear...

* * *

><p>There were only two days left until Harry was to return to Hogwarts. It was the longest summer he could remember since he first received the news, on his eleventh birthday, that he was a wizard, like his parents before him, and would be leaving his Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon and wretched cousin Dudley for the best part of each year. Every summer before this, Harry had managed to escape to his friend Ron's for the last few weeks of the year, but ever since Voldemort's return to power, Hogwarts headmaster Albus Dumbledore had been loath to allow him to leave either his school or his home with the Dursleys for longer than the time it took to travel by Hogwarts Express from Platform nine-and-three-quarters at King's Cross Station to school.<p>

Dumbledore and Sirius both knew that Voldemort was desperate to kill Harry after Harry had thwarted him for so long. They had taken extra precautions: Sirius, still enchanted as a black dog, was never far from Number 4 Privet Drive. At the slightest sign of danger, Harry was to send a message with his owl, Hedwig, and Sirius would either reply or, if the danger was serious enough, come straight into the house - the Dursleys be damned. Then, on September 1, the first day of school, Dumbledore would arrange a car to collect Harry and take him straight to King's Cross Station to catch the Hogwarts Express. Several Aurors close to Dumbledore would travel on the train with Harry, in case Voldemort made an attempt while he was in transit.

Sirius had taken it upon himself to add some extra precautions; Harry wasn't sure if even Dumbledore knew. It wasn't, Harry reflected uneasily, the kind of thing Albus Dumbledore would have thought of doing. Much as he did not like to admit it, there was still a dark edge to Sirius that came from having spent twelve years of his life in Azkaban prison and the last two years on the run from the Ministry of Magic, while all the time staying close enough to Harry to ensure his safety. There was a part of Sirius that had not hesitated to attack the Fat Lady when she had refused to admit him to Gryffindor Tower the night he had come to kill Peter Pettigrew in Harry and Ron's dormitory room. While he had been in Azkaban, Sirius had learned to survive whatever the cost, and he now approached the matter of Harry's safety in the same manner.

Early on in the summer, with ingredients and instructions provided him by Sirius, Harry had brewed the potion in a small jar he kept under the floorboards in his room. The potion was very complicated and Harry often had had to attend it at night while his relations were sleeping. Fortunately, the Dursleys were afraid to go too near Harry's room, as if they would vaporize on entering. Despite learning before Harry's second year that he wasn't allowed to do magic away from Hogwarts, they seemed to have become ever more paranoid that as Harry got older, he would find a way to do magic around the house without anyone knowing. Harry's Aunt Petunia would narrow her drawn eyelids in suspicion whenever Harry completed a chore faster than she expected. One day Dudley had even smelled the Polyjuice Potion before Harry could quickly close the floorboard when Dudley had decided to launch his massive frame down the staircase in the middle of the night, no doubt for an illicit snack. Dudley had opened the door to Harry's room without knocking but took great caution before stepping in.

"What's that smell?" he had wanted to know.

Harry had widened his eyes. "I'm brewing a _potion_, Dudley, for _you_."

Dudley's eyes had widened in fright. "A p-p-potion?"

"That's right," Harry had replied, speaking in what he had hoped sounded like the slow drawl of a lunatic. "Don't you want it? It will make you feel _much_better."

Dudley had shook his head decisively and crashed down the stairs in fright, waking his parents and earning a stiff rebuke for trying to sneak an ice cream bar back to his room.

But, Harry reflected, in fact, making a potion was exactly what Harry had been doing, and, even more to the point, Dudley was indeed its intended victim. Before Harry's fourth year, he had told Sirius about the diet Dudley's parents had forced him into when even they could not longer deny that his obesity had grown beyond being merely "large boned." The diet had now continued for two years, with very little effect, mostly due to the fact that Dudley was taking every opportunity to sneak in the occasional extra snack, mostly by way of his Aunt Marge, who had taken pity on the boy. This past summer, Aunt Marge had arrived one day while Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia were out and Harry was tending rose bushes in the back garden, and placed a large package of chocolate puddings at Dudley's disposal. Since it was Harry's job to clean the refrigerator, he also knew that Dudley had the habit of keeping several chocolate pudding containers hidden at the back of the refrigerator behind a large bottle of vegetable juice which he alone was supposed to be drinking. Harry also knew that, whenever he succeeded in frightening Dudley into thinking he was going to perform magic on him, Dudley would run as fast as his pig-like legs would carry him to the refrigerator to down another container.

Harry had let all of this slip in a letter to Sirius out of amusement more than anything else. But Sirius had taken the information as an opportunity. He told Harry to continue brewing the Polyjuice Potion and to take something off Dudley to complete the ingredients. This had not been difficult: after all, Aunt Petunia took great delight in finding any excuse to make Harry do the laundry for the entire house and it was not difficult to identify the owner of Dudley's oversized garments. He took several hairs off Dudley's sweater and added them to the potion. Then, on Sirius' instructions, he added several of his own to another jar.

Finally, a month into the summer, the ingredients were complete. Harry kept stirring the jars each day to make sure the glutinous mixture remained effective, and then prayed he would never have to use it.

As much as Harry had suffered nothing more than misery after fifteen years of his cousin's mistreatment, he was reluctant to see Dudley face Voldemort's wrath in a case of mistaken identity. Sirius had tried to reassure him: it was only as a last resort. If the Death Eaters came for Harry, they would take the wrong boy; after a time, they would realize Dudley was not the real Harry Potter, but Harry's Muggle cousin. Having no further interest in a Muggle, they would release him by which time the real Harry would be long gone. Harry wasn't really sure he believed this: it seemed more likely to him that the Death Eaters would just kill Dudley. Moreover, he wasn't sure that Sirius believed it either.

As he had every summer, Harry had been marking the days down on his calendar until there was only one left. Harry began to breathe easier. Voldemort had still been unable to break Dumbledore's magic: Harry was still safe, at least as long as he was either with the Dursleys or with Dumbledore at Hogwarts. There would be no need to use the Polyjuice Potion after all. But on the morning of August 31, Harry woke up and felt a twinge of pain from the scar on his forehead, the scar that Voldemort had given him the night he had killed Harry's parents. Harry knew from experience that his scar rarely hurt unless Voldemort was either nearby or planning something against him. Harry waited all morning, hoping the pain would go away. In one day, he reasoned, he would be safely back at Hogwarts.

But the pain just got worse. Finally, when Aunt Petunia told Harry to fetch his cousin for his lunch of boiled spinach greens, Harry slipped into his own room, wrote a quick message to Sirius and tied it to Hedwig's leg. Hedwig, sensing in her own way the urgency of the situation, quickly glided out of his window. Harry was surprised when, on returning to his room after visiting his cousin, Hedwig had already returned, squawking at her own cleverness. Harry passed her a brief snack and looked out of the window curiously, only to see Sirius, transfigured into a large black dog, already standing on the pavement outside Privet Drive with the note in his mouth. He had apparently been taking no chances.

The pain in Harry's scar increased slowly but steadily as the afternoon wore on. He felt it throbbing as he served a large supper of steak, peas, and mashed potatoes to his Uncle Vernon, and a much smaller plate of carrots and peas to a sulking Dudley.

"Bloody great dog hanging around the house again!" Vernon was complaining loudly. "If I've called the police once, I've called them a hundred times, but when they turn up, it's always gone!"

"Perhaps it just wants a home," Harry said, trying to sound innocent as he carefully poured a glass of red wine for his aunt.

But Uncle Vernon was not fooled. His beady eyes narrowed as he looked at Harry.

"Don't think, boy, that I don't know that _your_ lot are mixed up somewhere in this."

Harry felt his face redden and tried to look away.

"And don't think," added Vernon, wielding a fork full of steak that Dudley eyed longingly, "that I don't know that _you_ know _exactly_what that dog is doing here."

Harry only shrugged and went back to retrieve his own food, a portion of carrots and peas even smaller than Dudley's.

At that very moment, there was a loud scraping sound at the front door.

"THAT RUDDY DOG!" Vernon yelled.

Harry saw that his uncle wasn't to be fooled. But, all the same, Harry was standing on his feet and Vernon had increasing difficulty moving his massive frame up from his chair.

"Make it go away!" Vernon yelled to Harry.

But Harry intended to do no such thing. At once, he flew open the door and Sirius came bounding into the hallway. He barked loudly and pressed up against Harry. Then he ran past him and into the kitchen to face the Dursleys, his paws pressing against the kitchen table.

"WHAT THE BLOODY HELL - AAAAAHHHH!"

Vernon's apoplectic screams died in his throat as Sirius transformed from a dog to a human being, looking as gaunt and haggard as one would expect for someone who had spent the past summer living out of various rubbish tips. Vernon also realized right away from the many newspaper clippings he had studiously examined that he was facing Sirius Black, Harry's godfather and a wanted criminal.

Petunia, her hair already in rollers, immediately grabbed Dudley. The two of them ran over the corner of the kitchen, staring Sirius up and down in fright. Petunia began to simper ineffectually and Dudley let out a low moaning sound while shaking visibly. He hadn't looked this disturbed since he had fallen into a cage at the zoo with a boa constrictor just before Harry's first year at Hogwarts.

Vernon, the man of the family, did not back down but instead fell to his knees on the floor in front of Sirius. On other occasions when members of the wizarding world had visited the Dursleys, Vernon had managed to overcome his initial fear and put up some type of - usually ineffective - resistance, but on this occasion, faced with a man he believed was a hardened and dangerous criminal, Vernon was totally overcome. His face had turned from scarlet to purple and he put his hands together as if praying to a malevolent deity.

"Please!" Vernon croaked, fear written all over his face. "We - we never meant the boy any harm! It - It was all for his own good! W - W - We knew the boy was famous! We didn't want it to get to his head, you see. P - Perhaps w- we were a little harsh, at times. You forgive us, d - don't you, son?" he looked imploringly at Harry.

Harry returned Vernon's pleas with an expression of total disgust that was matched only by the look of hardened loathing on Sirius' own face.

"Get up!" Sirius barked at Vernon, pointing a lanky index finger in his direction.

Vernon responded by breaking down into open sobs. "T - take me, t - t - take me, sir, take me, anywhere; it's all my fault. J - Just don't hurt my wife and my baby boy!"

If the circumstances were any different, Harry would have burst out laughing at the thought that any could describe Dudley as a baby, but now he realized that Sirius would not have come into the house, especially not the night before the Ministry was due to take Harry back to Hogwarts, unless he had known it was important.

Sirius sighed contemptuously at Vernon. "I am not here to harm you and your family." He tried to strike a friendly tone but he was unable to hide his growing impatience with and contempt of the groveling Vernon. "But you have to come with me now. You are not safe here. This house has been compromised - "

"T - that much is clear, sir," Vernon carried on, seeming to have heard only Sirius' last sentence. "I - I beg of you."

"We're wasting time!" Sirius shouted. He reached into the folds of his robe and produced an enormously large faded bowler hat, which he proceeded to unfold on the Dursleys' kitchen table.

"This," he had tried to explain, "is a portkey. We need to take it _now_ to get away from here!" He took a step toward Vernon and held out his hand.

This was too much for the Dursleys. Vernon scrambled to his feet, bones cracking with the effort. He then shuffled to the rear of the kitchen and shepherded Petunia and Dudley into the adjacent dining room.

Sirius' lips tightened as he turned to Harry. "The potion," he said quietly. "Where is it? We need it now. And let out Hedwig, but don't take anything else - we need to leave right away! Voldemort, the Death Eaters..." Sirius' voice trailed off and Harry's heart sank at the defeated look that had crept into his eyes. "They've broken the old magic, Harry."

Harry didn't need to be told another word. He raced up the stairs to his room and opened Hedwig's cage. At first, she only sat there but then he waved at her with his arms.

"Fly! Go! We're being attacked! It's not safe!"

Hedwig stared at Harry for a moment before spreading her white wings and flying outside the window. In his heart, Harry wasn't sure whether he would see her again. Sirius had told him to take nothing but he had still found himself opening his closet and taking the one thing he valued the most, his Firebolt broomstick, with him. He next opened the floorboards near his bed, and carefully took out the two bottles of Polyjuice Potion, his and Dudley's, and made his way down the stairs, gripping the Firebolt with one elbow.

Harry had only just left his room when he felt a tremendous wave of heat come over him. His scar had suddenly exploded with violent pain and he had to restrain himself from falling and sending the contents of the Polyjuice Potion crashing to the floor. He looked at the walls of his room; was it his imagination or were they suddenly growing darker? The white didn't seem to be so white anymore and the walls seemed to bleed and almost bubble. First, Harry thought it was his own imagination but then a crack appeared in the wall behind his bed, causing his Gryffindor banner to fall onto the floor. A burning blackness suddenly seemed to emerge out along the cracks where the ceiling met the walls and smoke began to curl around the edges.

"Harry!" he could hear Sirius cry. "Quickly!"

Harry ran down the stairs. He felt the floorboards weak under his step. In the distance, he could hear the Dursleys sobbing with fright in the dining room. He turned back to see a jet blackness sweeping like a cancer all over the walls of the top floor. The corridor was now filled with smoke. It was as if the house was imploding in upon itself.

Harry managed to clamber into the kitchen. His scar throbbed and his lungs burned from the smoke, and he began to cough violently. Sirius was standing in the kitchen. He immediately took the bottles in his hand.

"Which one is his?" Sirius demanded.

Harry could no longer speak; in between a violent hacking cough, he managed to point at a jar with the letter D written in plastic marker.

Sirius did not hesitate. He opened the refrigerator door. "In here?" he asked Harry.

"Behind the - " Harry coughed, "vegetable juice. But do you really think - " Harry began to cough uncontrollably and his protests died.

Sirius immediately removed the vegetable juice and took out the remaining container of chocolate pudding. With a surprising nimbleness, he carefully pealed open the foil wrapping on the top of the container and poured the contents of the Polyjuice Potion inside, stirring the mixture with a nearby spoon.

"Let's hope he takes it," Sirius said. "Unfortunately, we can't wait here to find out. Drink yours."

Harry took the Polyjuice Potion from the table and downed it in one gulp. He felt like his insides were about to explode. His stomach, lungs, and head were on fire; he lost his balance and tumbled back onto the kitchen chair where, a mere ten minutes before, his Uncle Vernon had been looking forward to a dinner of steak and peas.

He was vaguely aware of Sirius running into the dining room, having an animated discussion with the Dursleys. It felt to Harry as if he was talking underwater.

"You have to come with us _now_," he heard Sirius say. "There isn't any time to discuss this."

"I - am - not - going - anywhere - with - _you_!" Vernon's booming voice sounded in reply. Harry heard him trying the handle of the back door, then yelping back with pain.

"It's - it's on fire!" Vernon cried in a mixture of pain and disbelief.

The kitchen where Harry was sitting was now filled with smoke coming from down the corridor. There was an enormous crashing sound as what had once been Harry's room came falling down into the front living room.

"Even if you could make it outside," Sirius was saying, "the Death Eaters are waiting there."

"The _what?"_

"And when they are finished burning down your house," Sirius continued, oblivious to Vernon's outburst. "They are going to come in here and make sure Harry is dead, along with any witnesses. The only way out is to come with _me_, with _us_."

Sirius must have tried to move closer to the Dursleys again because at that moment, they all came bouncing back into the kitchen in a tragic parody of musical chairs. There was already a haze of smoke between them and Harry but not so much that Petunia did not turn around to look at him and screamed. She grabbed Vernon's arm and pointed to Harry and Vernon let out another yelp of astonishment.

Harry became aware that his skin was now bubbling as if there were a hundred small blast-ended skrewts crawling inside. His arms and legs swelled enormously and he started to grow taller. Harry knew from his second year at Hogwarts when he, Ron, and Hermione had transformed into three Slytherins in order to find out whether Draco Malfoy had in fact opened the Chamber of Secrets that his transformation was the effect of the Polyjuice Potion.

"Vernon!" Aunt Petunia shrilled. "He's - he's turning into some kind of _monster!"_

Harry privately thought that Petunia didn't know how near to the truth she was.

All this proved too much for Dudley, who was now white as a sheet and trembling uncontrollably. He swung open the refrigerator, scrounged around inside, and emerged with the remaining container of chocolate pudding. Too paralyzed with fright to notice that the top wrapper had been tampered with, Dudley picked up a ready spoon (the very spoon, in fact, that Sirius had just used to stir the Polyjuice Potion into the pudding) and gulfed the pudding - Polyjuice Potion and all - down in four large gulps.

Harry had just been aware of Dudley clutching his throat and gagging in agony when the smoke and the pain from his scar began to overcome him and the world slipped into darkness.

* * *

><p>Harry finished his account and looked up at Sirius.<p>

Sirius nodded. "Then you remember almost everything."

"How did I get here?" Harry wanted to know.

Sirius sighed. "You lost consciousness. You were still transforming into your cousin when I picked you up and carried you over to the portkey. I tried to talk to your aunt, uncle and cousin one more time. The room was filled with smoke, but they just couldn't - they just couldn't do it. The last thing I saw they had all gathered under the kitchen table. Both your aunt and uncle had already started to hold your cousin, who was by this point beginning his own transformation. I couldn't wait any longer; I grabbed you, touched the portkey and then we were here."

Harry looked at Sirius for a long moment, slowly digesting everything he had just been told. "And where are we?" he asked.

"Somewhere in the lower Highlands," Sirius replied, "about thirty miles southwest of Hogwarts on the other side of the Forbidden Forest that divides the school from the Muggle world. I picked this spot while you were still in school last year, Harry. I've been going back and forth with the portkey all summer to make sure everything was arranged well and to take care of Buckbeak. No one knows about this place except myself and Dumbledore."

"Can't we send an owl?" asked Harry.

Sirius shook his head. "Too dangerous. This is a Muggle area. Any owl activity would attract attention - either from the Ministry or Voldemort."

"But won't they be looking for us, Voldemort and the Death Eaters? Or Dumbledore? If I've been out for twenty-four hours, then we must have been here since last night. Shouldn't we be moving?"

Sirius shook his head. "I don't think so, Harry." He suddenly looked down.

"Why n-" Harry's question suddenly died in his throat.

Sirius looked up and watched Harry's expression change through puzzlement and realization and then dull shock. It reminded Sirius of the reflection he had seen in the mirror many nights over the last fifteen years.

"They're not looking for me," said Harry slowly, "because they think I'm already dead. That means, the Dursleys - " Harry looked up at Sirius.

"I'm sorry, Harry." Sirius laid his hand on Harry's shoulder. "I know there wasn't much between you but I also know they were the last family you had left."

Harry didn't say anything for a moment. Sirius busied himself using a long stick to stoke the logs on the fire.

"I must have been a shock to them, seeing Dudley start to transform like that."

"I expect so." Sirius continued to stoke the logs. After a moment, he looked up and walked over to his godson and gently touched his forehead. "They might have been afraid, very afraid, but they also should have known they had no choice. Death Eaters or no Death Eaters, their house was burning up from the inside and they couldn't get out. They had always known about our world but they were too afraid to accept that knowledge. Some people would rather die than confront something that they cannot understand. In the end, it was their fear that killed them."

Harry nodded but he wasn't sure he was completely convinced. He looked up at Sirius again.

"But the Polyjuice Potion, don't I have to keep on taking it?"

Sirius shrugged. "There isn't any left."

"But why haven't I transformed back already? Ron and I only stayed transformed an hour before we changed back, and Bartemis Crouch?"

Sirius smiled. "You, Ron, and Hermione took a very old volume out of the library. Hogwarts isn't in the habit of keeping the newest advances in potions on the library stacks where students can find them, even in the restricted section. And Bartemis Crouch had spent many years in Azkaban prison before he tried to transform into Mad-Eye Moody. He was also behind the times. The Auror division has recently been perfecting an improved dose that keeps the user transformed for at least twenty-four hours." Sirius frowned slightly. "And they've even had help from our favorite Potions Master."

"Snape?"

Sirius nodded then turned to look at Harry seriously. "We must be careful though. Your cousin may not have kept all of his potion down. He might change back before you do. We'll stay here tonight. You're still not fit enough to travel and it's too dangerous to cross the forest. We'll leave first thing tomorrow morning. We should be safe here but we can't stay too long."

* * *

><p>Wolfram Harrell lay down on the ground staring up at the sky, an expression of total disbelief written on his face.<p>

Harrell was an extremely fit man whose friends had often remarked how young he looked for his age. He frequently took to his broomstick over the spacious grounds of his family's palatial estate. He had built his own Quidditch pitch and prided himself that he could still fly as fast and turn as surely as the days when he had played as a chaser on the Slytherin House team. Indeed, any medical examiner, whether Muggle or wizard would have very much approved of Harrell's physical condition.

Except for one small detail. At that moment, Wolfram Harrell was very much dead.

Voldemort placed his wand back into his pocket. He watched as Nagini circled Harrell's body with a bright, hungry look in his eye, not quite knowing where to begin his feast, the light from the fire in the Riddle House where Voldemort was still hiding reflecting on his silky skin.

Voldemort once again spoke in the high-pitched snake-like language of Parseltongue.

Nagini stared back at him, a slight look of self-pity in her jet black eye and grudgingly curled up next to Harrell, waving the back of her tail back and forth impatiently.

"Just a little while longer, Nagini," said Voldemort in English. "We do not want to disgust our guest."

He turned to Lucius Malfoy who was standing to his right, clutching the top of his stomach gingerly.

"Harrell has just returned with some valuable news, Lucius."

"I - Indeed, my lord." Malfoy tried to put on a brave smile.

"Yes," replied Voldemort, smiling. "At my instruction, he returned to Surrey this morning. The Ministry arrived as predicted, made inquiries with the Muggles, of course, and planted a few memory charms. Harrell waited for them to leave. Then, for reasons I fear have much to do with his second conscience, returned to the Muggle coroner's office sometime late this afternoon, and what do you think he found?"

Malfoy shook his head. He didn't like to think.

"It seems our Mr. Potter's body had been mislaid. The Muggles were quite disturbed. They began a very thorough search. It seems that where there should have been Mr. Potter, there was another boy, a little bit taller, and quite a bit fatter. A boy in fact that looked very much like Potter's Muggle cousin. What do you suppose could have happened?"

What color remained on Lucius Malfoy's face quickly disappeared. "Polyjuice Potion? P - Potter?"

Voldemort nodded. He sighed and looked down at Harrell's body. "Potter is still alive," he said flatly. "He escaped. I wouldn't have minded if Harrell had told me the truth. It was, after all, a very difficult operation. But he had raised my hopes last night and when he arrived today, I was so very disappointed."

Malfoy repressed a shudder.

Voldemort turned to look back at Malfoy. "I gather, Lucius, that you have some information that may be of use to us."

Malfoy smiled slightly, and could not resist straightening his shoulders with self-importance. "Yes, I think I might. I assume you are referring to the list of Potter's possible hideouts that came into my possession."

"Yes, indeed." Voldemort took a step toward Malfoy. "I still remember your Quidditch days, Lucius. I trust you haven't lost your touch."

"No, my lord."

"Good. Take a party of your best men to scour the areas where you believe Mr. Potter to be hiding and find him - tonight. We don't have much time, Lucius; he is resourceful as are those who are protecting him. It won't be long before he finds his way back to Hogwarts."

Malfoy nodded. He did not move.

"Is there something more you wish to say to Lord Voldemort?"

"Y - yes, my lord." Lucius cleared his throat. "The information on Mr. Potter's whereabouts was provided by my son."

"Ah, yes." Voldemort smiled. "Young Draco. And what of it?"

"I - I was merely thinking about our agreement, should our search be successful - "

"_Should_your search be successful, we might talk."

Malfoy smiled wanly and turned to Disapparate.

"Lucius."

Malfoy turned and looked back to his master.

"Do not lie to me, Lucius." Voldemort looked meaningfully at Harrell. "If the operation is not a success, we do have another plan, albeit a slightly more difficult one." He pulled Tom Riddle's diary from his cloak and showed it to Malfoy.

A shrewd smirk crossed over Malfoy's features.

Let the fool think he did me a great favor, thought Voldemort, rather than jeopardizing everything I have worked for. At that moment, Voldemort knew that he needed Lucius Malfoy's vanity as much as he needed his fear.

"Nevertheless," said Voldemort, causing Malfoy's smile to fade slightly. "I grow impatient. Tonight remains our best opportunity. I do not care much whether you return Harry Potter to me alive or dead."

Malfoy's jaw hardened and a hungry look surfaced in his eyes. He nodded to Voldemort, then Disapparated.


	3. The Chase

**Chapter 3**

**The Chase**

Harry walked over to Sirius who had a piece of parchment laid open in front of him. The parchment now showed the area where Sirius and Harry were camped. As Sirius moved his wand over his surface, the map revealed a pathway through the mountains to the Forbidden Forest and beyond to Hogwarts.

"I shouldn't like to spend much time in there again," said Harry shuddering.

Sirius turned to look at him. "I'm afraid we don't have much choice. We hike all day tomorrow to Raven Hollow." He pointed to an area slightly to the left of the center of the forest. "The Centaurs can protect us there for a time. Then, the next day, we'll proceed through the Gargoyle ravine, around to Dippet ridge and then up through into Hogwarts. Our wands should point us if we get lost."

Harry looked at the map more closely and felt even more uncomfortable. There were several sections marked HAZARD! in glittery silver. One, Harry noted, was right in the middle of the nest of spiders where he and Ron had wandered during their second year while trying to find if Hagrid's former pet, Aragog, was in fact the monster inside the Chamber of Secrets. Several others seemed to indicate large waterfalls and one a circle of flames. Another section marked out what liked like a group of trees with large mouths ringed with deadly fangs.

"Does Dumbledore know we're here now?" Harry suddenly thought to ask.

Sirius shook his head. "I doubt it. Dumbledore knows about this place but he didn't know about the Polyjuice Potion."

So, thought Harry, it was Sirius' idea after all.

"He probably thinks you're dead," said Sirius. "Even if he suspected you might be alive, he knows it would be too dangerous to check." Sirius looked at Harry more seriously. "We can't be sure what Voldemort's powers are now, Harry, especially as he succeeded in breaking the old magic."

Harry frowned. "That means that my friends will think I'm dead also. Can't we send an owl from the forest?"

"No, it's just too dangerous, Harry. Besides, we don't have an owl. Or a fireplace. You cannot safely apparate; _no one_ can apparate inside Hogwarts, and I cannot very well apparate anywhere else since I'm a wanted criminal."

Harry nodded. Hedwig still hadn't returned. Maybe she had been fooled also. Or worse.

"I just know how hard it will be on my friends. I just wish it didn't have to be that way."

Sirius smiled. "I know, Harry, but I'm afraid you're either dead for two days or dead forever. I think you know which your friends would prefer."

Harry nodded, but he found it proved too difficult to return his godfather's smile.

"Now, please get some rest, Harry. We won't do well in the forest if you're not in a fit state."

* * *

><p>At that very same moment, a mere several miles away from where Harry was now preparing for an early rest, the Hogwarts Express was nearing its destination.<p>

Ron, Hermione, and Ginny shared a compartment. Ron and Hermione sat on the inside and Ginny next to Hermione on her side. None of them were talking for the moment, which was very unusual considering that the Weasleys and Hermione had not seen each other this summer. Hermione had tried to talk off and on about her holiday in France and Ron had talked a little bit about his owl Pigwidgeon's new habit of squawking loudly in his ear to tell him he had mail before pulling back and flying around the room with the letter still attached to his beak. Most of these conversational topics had fallen almost instantly flat, however, and it was clear that they were mostly thinking about what might have happened to Harry. A few visitors had been in to see them: Ron and Hermione's fellow Gryffindor sixth-years Seamus Finnigan, Neville Longbottom, and Parvati Patil; fifth Colin Creevey and his third-year brother Dennis; and Ravenclaw seventh-year Cho Chang. Most of the visitors had asked about Harry and had tried with varying degrees of success to cover up their concern when they learned that he was apparently not on board. Even Draco Malfoy, who normally came in menace them at least once each trip, had not yet put in an appearance. Ginny had spent most of the day absorbed in a Muggle book her father had given her and had uttered only three words the entire day: "No, thanks" when asked if she wanted anything from the snack trolley and just "no" when Cho had asked if they had seen Harry.

Hermione looked out the window and saw the mountain scenery disappear from view as the train plunged through the heart of the Forbidden Forest. She knew it wouldn't be very long until they reached Hogwarts and she decided that she should at least try to bring up the subject of Harry.

"What do you think's happened, then?"

Ron did not try to pretend that he did not know what Hermione was talking about. He shrugged and sighed. "Perhaps You-Know-Who was planning to seize the train. It _is_ a little obvious if you think about it."

Hermione frowned. "I suppose so. But would You-Know-Who really attack so directly now, before the wizarding world has fully realized that he's returned?"

"He could cover it up to look like something else, couldn't he?"

"I suppose." Hermione frowned again.

"You don't think - " Ron started suddenly, his eyes suddenly coming to life.

"What?" asked Hermione.

"I mean, well, that you-know-who might have something to do with this?"

Hermione stared at Ron as though he had taken temporary leave of his senses. "You know, Ron, there just might be that odd chance."

Ron stared back at her quizzically before his face cleared. "Oh, no, I don't mean You-Know-Who, I mean, You-Know-Who, of course, but I really mean, er, you-know-who."

"I'm afraid you've lost me."

Ron nudged his head slightly in Ginny's direction.

Ginny looked up from her book. "You want me to leave, don't you?"

"If you wouldn't mind," replied Ron.

"I'm really sorry, Ginny," said Hermione, "just for a moment, OK?"

"It's OK," replied Ginny. Hermione searched her face for some trace of indignation but could find none. Ginny simply took her book in her hand and quietly left the compartment.

Ron waited until Ginny was out of the door. "Sirius."

"Oh," said Hermione.

"He was guarding Harry all summer. Maybe he's tried something."

Hermione sighed. "Or maybe he's been caught."

Ron frowned.

* * *

><p>Ginny walked down the corridor of the train, peaking through the doors and greeting several students whom she knew. She thought to try and find her two roommates and best friends Amanda and Catherine whom she had missed in the rush to board the train at King's Cross. As she was walking along the corridor, however, she passed the rarest of things on the Hogwarts Express - an empty compartment. From the sound of nearby voices, Ginny could tell that the occupants, Neville and Dean Thomas, were in the adjacent compartment talking to their Hufflepuff friends, Justin Finch-Fetchley and Ernie Macmillan about the recent European Quidditch Cup. Ginny moved into the compartment and sat down. She didn't mind so much if they returned. Ginny liked Neville, even if she did still have a scar from where he had stepped on her foot at the Yule Ball two years ago.<p>

Ginny turned her head around and looked out of the window. Dusk had fallen outside and she could see her reflection through the light of the compartment. It was nice to see to look at a mirror that wasn't enchanted for once. It was so much easier to talk to your reflection when it wasn't going to talk back at you. Being a witch meant it was sometimes very hard to be alone; having six brothers meant that it was doubly difficult. There were times when Ginny craved these opportunities.

And so she did what she had told herself she would the whole summer. She stared at her reflection and said almost inaudibly so that no one in the other compartment would hear:

"I am in love with Harry Potter. I am not a silly child. It is not a silly schoolgirl crush. I am not going to forget about it."

Ginny smiled and felt much better. She could she her cheeks flush in her reflection but she did not turn away. She did not need to feel embarrassed in front of her own reflection. She imagined she could see Harry, flying on his Firebolt, alongside the train. She smiled as she remembered looking out of the window with her new found friends in her first year - before she had written to Tom Riddle, before she had opened the Chamber of Secrets - when everything was new and exciting and interesting and gasping in astonishment when she saw her father's enchanted Ford Anglia flying above the train with Harry and Ron inside.

When Ginny was a young child, her mother would read her bedtime stories of all the famous wizards and witches in history: Godric Gryffindor, Henrietta Handsdowne, Albus Dumbledore... But the one Ginny always told her mother to tell her over and over again was the story of the Boy Who Lived, Harry Potter. Ginny was fascinated that a little boy hardly older than herself had defeated the Dark Lord, the most evil wizard ever to have lived, the sorcerer her parents still did not dare to name. She begged her mother to make up stories about how Ginny traveled along with Harry Potter, saving the world from dark wizards and witches everywhere. When she had first met the lonely boy with the glasses on the platform at King's Cross Station Harry's first year, Ginny did not imagine that he could be the great Harry Potter. The real Harry seemed shy, polite, and, well, _vulnerable_ in comparison to the Harry that Ginny had imagined. But Ginny had not felt disappointed; if anything, she was interested further. Ginny's imagination became consumed with the idea of making friends and sharing excitement with the real Harry at Hogwarts. And then it wasn't long before she found herself imagining their relationship to be much more than friendship.

And so it was on one unusually clear summer morning before her first year at Hogwarts, when Ginny's romantic fantasies had gotten very far ahead of her, that she had sat at the kitchen table, the very table where Ginny had sat and dreamed about her adventures with Harry all through her childhood, and seen the very last thing she had expected to see: the Boy Who Lived was coming down the stairs to join them for breakfast. Ginny had dreamed about saying and doing many different things on their first real meeting but knocking over a bowl of porridge had not been one of them.

And then she had shared a real life adventure with Harry Potter in the Chamber of Secrets. And it had not been fun and exciting. It had been frightening, disturbing, and humiliating. And Ginny did not dream about sharing adventures with Harry any more.

But she still dreamed about being together with him. Harry Potter was every bit as noble, true, but also as vulnerable and human as she had imagined. She was fascinated that anyone could share all of these contradictory qualities together in such abundance, and that fascination fueled her attraction to and, as she grew older, her desire for him.

During a game of Wizard truth her second year, she had told her feelings to her roommates Catherine and Amanda. Neither of them had seemed very surprised. As Amanda put it, Ginny was not blessed with the dullest complexion. Everyone in Gryffindor tower knew that Ginny was like a warning beacon: they only had to see her glowing red to know that Harry must be somewhere nearby. Both of her friends had tried to convince her that her crush wasn't healthy: they had many reasons. It's not _true love_, they had said. You have a crush on him because you think he's a hero, because he saved your life, because he's handsome and plays Quidditch, and so on. At first, Ginny had managed to persuade herself that they were right. And then Ron had tried to talk to her the summer after her third year. He knows you like him, he had said. If you want to be his friend, stop lighting up like a Christmas tree whenever you see him. As if it were that easy.

But Harry was no longer a stranger to Ginny. He was her brother's best friend and he spent several summers at the Burrow before the return of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Ginny had studied with Harry, sat on the train with him, and even teased him when he had been turned down by Cho Chang whom he had invited to the Yule Ball his fourth year. But her feelings hadn't vanished with the reality of Harry's presence in her life; if anything, they had gotten stronger. Ginny told everyone who talked to her that she was over Harry. She wasn't really sure they believed her but at least they had stopped bothering her about it (all except for Fred and George, of course).

And then there were the nightmares.

Ginny had dreamed about being in the Chamber for years now. Sometimes the dreams were like shadows dancing through her mind, always on the edge of her perception. At other times, they were real and she would have to live with them the morning after. Over the years, the nightmares had become fewer, but just recently, they had returned. Ever since she had come back to the Burrow over the summer, the nightmares had come fast and frequent. Somehow they seemed different from before. She was baffled as to what they were telling her. It was always the same: she was lying in the Chamber and Harry and Tom were preparing to fight. Harry wanted her to save him but she could never quite bring herself to do it. The details would sometimes change, though: sometimes Tom was Tom and sometimes he was Voldemort. At the same time, Ginny's feelings for Harry seemed to grow stronger but she wasn't sure if it was her feelings that were causing the dream or the dream that was causing the feelings.

Ginny was certain about one thing, though: her friends and her brother were wrong. Her crush was not going to go away. Finally, this summer, during a quiet moment by herself in the garden of the Burrow, Ginny had told herself that her love was real. Even if no one understood her or respected her, she would be true to herself. Now as she looked at her reflection in the window, Ginny made another resolution: this year she would become Harry's friend, not just his best friend's little sister, but his own real friend. After that, Ginny didn't know, but she felt sure her feelings for Harry weren't going to change and she could be very patient. The more Ginny thought about this idea, the more she liked it until finally she smiled at her reflection.

But then her smile faded. She remembered that no one knew where Harry was at that moment. Ginny felt a horrible fear form inside of her gut: Harry wasn't coming back.

Ginny continued to look at her reflection, the outside forest black as pitch around her. She felt a sudden lurch. The Hogwarts Express was reaching its destination.

* * *

><p>At that moment, Harry was having a dream of his own. He dreamed that he was playing Quidditch for Gryffindor. The pitch of the crowd's roar rose and fell and Harry swooped through the air. Finally, he spotted the golden Snitch, which it was his duty as Seeker to chase. He suddenly became aware that Draco Malfoy was chasing the snitch with him, his green Slytherin uniform trailing behind him. Malfoy was gaining on the Snitch but he was not as fast as Harry.<p>

"You can't stop me now, Malfoy," Harry yelled back.

"Oh, no," Malfoy replied. "Just watch!"

Malfoy then reached behind his back and produced a large ball wrapped in a Slytherin uniform. Malfoy hurled the ball at Harry and it unrolled and took the shape of Dudley Dursley. Dudley was coming hard at Harry and there was nothing Harry could do to get out of the way. Dudley had an evil grin all over his face and he stretched out his arms. Harry winced with pain as he felt Dudley's fingers bore into his skull...

And then he woke up. At first, Harry was relieved. Dudley didn't attend Hogwarts, and certainly didn't play Quidditch for Slytherin.

But then he remembered that much more to the point, Dudley was no longer alive, and Harry felt much less relieved.

And then he realized why he had woken up and why he had dreamed of Dudley attacking his head. His scar was throbbing with pain. He immediately sat bolt upright and walked over to his godfather. "Sirius, my scar." Harry winced as the pain in his head tightened.

Sirius stood up, alarmed, from where he had been studying his map. "And it woke you up?"

"I think so."

Sirius' eyes darted around like a bat.

"Perhaps Voldemort found out. Perhaps he'll start looking for me."

Sirius did not reply. He stood up and began pacing around the camp. He stared in all four directions at the rambling countryside around them. It was almost as if he was looking for something he had lost. Then he glanced up into the heavens and took a step backward.

"Or perhaps he's already started." Sirius squinted at something far off in the distance. Was it his imagination, or had a shadow just past over the moon?

"What is it?" asked Harry. He squinted also, and then realized that the images of the moon and stars in the night sky were becoming blurry. He reached into his pocket and took out his glasses, but rather than making things clear, the sky just turned to a different shade of blur. He was caught in between Dudley, who did not wear glasses and his own near-sightedness with the result that he could not see particularly well either way. Still, as Harry struggled with his vision, he could just make out what looked like a series of dark spots against the night sky. They looked far away for a moment but an instant later, they were much, much closer.

"Are those some kind of giant birds, or bats?" Harry asked Sirius.

But Sirius didn't answer. He took a step backward. Then another step. "Harry," he said uneasily.

Harry looked back up at the sky. Even without good vision, he could see the dark shapes coming nearer and nearer. One of the shapes turned at an angle and something gold reflected from the side.

An insignia. An insignia like the one on the end of a -

"Harry," said Sirius more urgently. "Get your broomstick fast!"

Harry swallowed and looked around on the ground for his Firebolt. He did not have to look up at the sky now. He could hear them coming, men on broomsticks, cutting through the night air. He could hear the distant sounds of their raised voices. What they were after he didn't know, but he was not in the mood to stay and find out and neither was Sirius.

Then Harry heard a sound like a flare being launched. He felt his face flush in fright. He had only had that sound once in his life before, that he could remember. Harry forced himself to look up and saw a green light flash into the sky, then another, and another.

The Dark Mark was forming in the sky.

"HARRY!" yelled Sirius. "GO! GO!"

* * *

><p>The returning students to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry rode in stagecoaches up to the front entrance.<p>

"God, I'm starving," declared Ron who, without Harry around to help him, had eaten only a covered chicken sandwich complete with a single strand of sorry lettuce all day. "I can just smell that feast from here."

Hermione didn't answer. She kept looking around nervously. "I still can't see Harry," she said.

Ginny, who was now reunited with Ron and Hermione, kept darting her eyes back and forth, and rubbing her arm as if she was cold despite the unusual warmth of the evening.

Finally, the students made it to the large Entrance Hall. For Ron, Hermione, and Ginny, the routine was now familiar and Ron took the lead in making their way across to the Great Hall where the new first years would soon be sorted and, more importantly, the feast would begin.

Ron was so intent on his journey that he nearly walked straight into Professor McGonagall, who was standing at the front entrance to the hall, blocking their advance.

"Oh, excuse me, Professor, I - " Ron broke off as he looked at the expression on McGonagall's face. She seemed to have aged thirty years in the short span of the summer. Her eyelids were heavy and her complexion blotchy as though she had been crying. She looked almost vacantly down at Ron before finally saying very quietly:

"You'd better stay where you are, Mr. Weasley."

Ron nodded but did not say anything. He began to feel very uneasy.

The crowd of students that was now forming behind Ron was forced to stop, most of them still outside the door to the Entrance Hall. There were hushed murmurings of confusion among the students.

McGonagall took out her wand. She was about to place it to her face when a loud booming sound resonated just above the students.

"Chaos! Confusion! Misery! Despair!"

Peeves the Poltergeist was jumping up and down in obvious delight with a wicked grin on his face.

McGonagall suddenly found her voice. "PEEVES!" she shrieked.

"Understood, madam," replied Peeves, bowing his hat. "Peeves is not wanted." Peeves began to move away but continued to rub his hands with glee. "Oh, just wait until you all find out what happened! Oh! Oh! Oh!" And with a final glare from McGonagall he was gone.

Ron suddenly felt sick.

McGonagall placed her wand to her mouth once again.

"_Sonorus_. If I could have everyone's attention." McGonagall broke off as she cleared her throat which was still hoarse from shouting at Peeves. "Tonight's feast has been cancelled."

There were murmurs of confusion and dismay from the students.

"If I can have quiet, please," said McGonagall. "Some very disturbing events have taken place today in the wizarding world and the faculty must meet together to discuss them. First years, when they arrive, will be taken to the main hall where they will be temporarily accommodated until a proper sorting ceremony can take place. Older students will proceed to their dormitories. Food and drink will be provided in your common rooms."

There was a relative silence, broken only by the shuffling of feet and disentanglement of bodies as the students moved in the directions of their respective houses.

Ron turned around to walk with the other students to Gryffindor Tower.

"Except," and here McGonagall seemed to croak on her words. "Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger. If you would follow me, please."

Ron nodded and looked around to Hermione who was standing just behind him, her face the color of birch.

McGonagall waited for Ron and Hermione to reach the spot where she was standing only to see that Ginny was trailing behind them.

"Not you, Miss Weasley," McGonagall said softly. "Please return to your dormitory."

Ginny did not reply. She stood her ground for one moment longer. In that brief moment, she fixed McGonagall with a stare that was as penetrating as it was unreadable. McGonagall felt herself shudder involuntarily.

Then, Ginny slowly nodded and turned around in the direction of Gryffindor Tower.

* * *

><p>Harry pushed up with his feet from the ground and in an instant his broomstick had risen high into the air. He saw Sirius behind him unfastening a protesting Buckbeak and riding the graceful animal into the sky alongside Harry. Harry immediately had to cut his pace to allow Sirius to catch up with him and even when he had, Harry could not maneuver his broomstick at full speed.<p>

It did not take long for the Death Eaters to catch up to them. There were eight of them, riding broomsticks that Harry did not yet recognize, as fast or perhaps even faster than his Firebolt. In an instant, the Death Eaters were riding close enough that Harry could see their black cloaks trailing behind them in the wind. Each of them wore masks that covered their faces.

Harry had barely registered this when he saw one of the Death Eaters take out a wand and aim it at his position:

"_Avada Kedavra!" _he heard the Death Eater cry.

Harry darted quickly to his right as the green beam from the Death Eater's wand narrowly missed his hip. He could feel the wind in his ears and his heart pounding in his head.

The Death Eaters were aiming to kill.

Suddenly, Harry was surrounded on all sides. Beams of wand light flashed all around him. Relying on his Quidditch instincts, Harry darted back and forth, avoiding the beams. The earth and the sky seemed to melt into one darkened mass as Harry twisted and twirled to try and break the Death Eaters' formations. Fighting off dizziness, his head still cloudy from having just woken up, Harry became aware of the oscillating spray of hot animal breath from somewhere just above him. Suddenly, the underside of Buckbeak's belly emerged right on top of him.

Harry moved his broomstick so that he was flying just ahead of Buckbeak. He could hear the animal panting and flapping its wings as fast as it could but it was no match for the Death Eaters who continued to circle Harry and Sirius.

"Harry!" Sirius cried. "You have to go on - to Hogwarts. It's your only chance!"

"I'm not leaving you!"

"Harry, listen to me. We don't have a choice. I can't keep up with them; you can go faster. Now, go!"

Harry opened his mouth to protest again just as he felt another flash of wand fire pass just below his left ear. Most of the Death Eaters had now circled either above or just below Sirius. He leaned on his broomstick so that he was moving away from Buckbeak and gaining ground. As he did so, he saw that one Death Eater was still flying right in front of his present position, looking around. Harry took out his wand, but it was too late. The Death Eater had spotted him. Harry tried to pull up but his momentum carried him to within several yards of the Death Eater's position.

"_Avada Keda-"_

_"Stupefy!"_

A flash of red light from just behind Harry cut off the Death Eater's curse. Sirius stood on top of Buckbeak, his wand outstretched. Harry watched as the beam struck the Death Eater straight on. He tumbled over his broomstick and down into the black night's sky.

Without stopping to think whether the Death Eater had survived his fall, Harry gripped his broomstick with both hands and moved off into the space that was now opening ahead of him. He felt the wind rush faster through his ears as his broomstick gained speed. Suddenly, he heard a loud sickening cry behind him. Harry turned his head around to see Buckbeak cutting and weaving dangerously through a cluster of Death Eaters. There was sudden flash of talons and one of the Death Eaters tumbled to the ground clutching his right arm. Sirius shifted Buckbeak and collided with another Death Eater head on. The Death Eater tumbled over the top of Buckbeak grabbing the underside of his broomstick. Sirius stood up and performed the Expelliarmus curse, sending the Death Eater to the ground.

But Buckbeak had suffered the blow of the Death Eater's broomstick tumbling into his body at close range. He gave out a loud hoarse cry and Harry could see that there was a large gash opening up under his right wing. Buckbeak flapped noisily but his right wing hung limply. Sirius held onto Buckbeak's neck tightly as the Hippogriff pitched at an alarmingly angle and fell dangerously fast out of the night's sky toward the darkened ground below.

"SIRIUS!" cried Harry.

His screams alerted the remaining Death Eaters who had been milling around Buckbeak in confusion. They broke off and headed toward Harry.

Harry flattened himself to his broomstick and felt it pick up even more speed at his command. He took out his wand.

"_Point me_!" Harry cried.

Harry's wand spun around toward the direction of Hogwarts. Harry swept sideways in a graceful arc and sped off over the first trees of the Forbidden Forest, the Death Eaters in pursuit.

* * *

><p>McGonagall finished telling Ron and Hermione everything that had happened that day and the night before: the Dursley's burned down house, the Ministry's arrival that morning and Dumbledore's discussion with the Weasleys (and apparently the Grangers via Muggle phone). She managed to get through the entire account unbroken but then began to sob and took out a slightly fading blue spotted handkerchief to dab her eyes.<p>

She didn't know what she had expected Ron and Hermione to say but she had not expected them to sit there as silently as they did. Both of them had gone horribly pale but neither had shown any reaction to anything she had said. They simply stared forward, not quite looking at her, large plates of food and a pitcher of pumpkin juice untouched between them.

Finally Ron said: "And they don't know anything else? They don't have any idea who's behind it, what else happened?"

McGonagall shook her head. "Believe me, that is what the Ministry is making every effort to discover as we speak. And I will inform the both of you along with your parents when there are any new findings. Now, if you'll excuse me, I will let the Headmaster know that you are here." McGonagall turned away and left not quite managing to look Ron and Hermione in the eye.

The door to Dumbledore's office shut and Ron and Hermione heard McGonagall's footsteps slowly disappearing down the spiral staircase. They continued to stare straight ahead, neither of them acknowledging that she had left.

There was a sudden flutter of movement. Fawkes the Phoenix, his brilliant red tail flowing elegantly behind him, came to perch delicately on the side of a tray of chocolate fudge cakes. He bowed ever so slightly to Ron. A single tear welled in the side of his eye and fell onto the tabletop.

"Hello, Fawkes," said Ron quietly, his voice suddenly breaking. "I don't think even your tears can heal us this time."

Hermione suddenly started to sob. She began quietly but soon her sobbing became more intense until finally she started to wail loudly, as loud as she could, louder than she had even the day when at the age of six, her small brown puppy had unexpectedly died, just days after she had received for her birthday.

Ron had seen Hermione cry before but never like this; her wailing seemed to echo off the walls of Dumbledore's office like the unearthly cries of a banshee.

"Hermione. Hermione," he said urgently.

Hermione reached over the table and grabbed Ron into an embrace. He suddenly felt Hermione's tear-stained cheek next to his and her bushy brown hair filled his vision. She continued to wail right next to his ear and he could feel her tears falling down onto his robes.

Hermione had always been a very tactile person but Ron had never been quite comfortable hugging his best friend. He always seemed to feel his heart quicken and his head fill with thoughts about someone coming around the corner and seeing their embrace or, in this case, Dumbledore walking into his office. Of course, it was perfectly natural for them to hug after they had just heard that their other best friend had been killed but somehow Ron still could not shake the discomfort. And Hermione always seemed to hold on so tightly like Ron was a giant stuffed teddy bear. It just felt claustrophobic.

But this time he supposed Hermione needed very badly to be hugged. Ron kept her in the embrace for what seemed like an eternity. He finally released her and moved backwards. Her release was more reluctant but she did not try to continue to press him against her. A few strands of Hermione's hair lingered a moment on Ron's shoulder before falling back down toward her.

"Why aren't you crying?" Hermione suddenly demanded.

"I - I don't know," replied Ron, the reality of Harry's death suddenly returning to the forefront of his attention. "I - I don't feel I _can_; I'm just shocked, I suppose, or - or - angry," Ron decided, feeling his face flush red.

Hermione grabbed her own handkerchief and blew her nose noisily, looking at Ron through bloodshot eyes. "Look, Ron," she suddenly said, as if coming to a decision. "It's just the two of us now." Hermione sniffed. "W - We need to be honest with each other."

Ron nodded, not quite sure what was coming next.

"T - There's something I need to tell you. I've been thinking about this all summer." Hermione started to speak quickly and look down at her knees. "I just - I just - " Hermione stopped, then suddenly balled her fists in frustration. "Oh, _why _is this so difficult?" she asked the arm of the chair. "We're _friends_, after all."

"Yeah," Ron replied weakly, suddenly feeling very foolish.

Hermione paused for a long moment and Ron felt a flood of unfamiliar emotions run through his head - anger at Harry's death, emptiness at the loss of his friend, pity for Hermione, and a sudden nagging curiosity to understand exactly what it was she was trying to tell him.

"I _can't_," said Hermione suddenly, releasing her grip and looking back in Ron's eyes. "Not now. There - there's just too much - too much has happened. I'm - I'm - I'm sorry."

"OK," replied Ron dumbly.

Hermione sighed, then looked at Ron anxiously. "Please," she said, in a very quiet and scared voice. "Please, Ron." She moved toward him with her arms out. "I - I know you don't feel that comfortable h - h - holding me."

_What w_as that she just said, Ron suddenly asked himself. _Holding?_

"I don't feel uncomfortable at all," Ron lied, suddenly aware that his voice was coming out as a high-pitched squeak.

"But I." Hermione looked down again. "I - I just feel _really _alone right now."

Hermione's plea was so pitiful it frightened Ron. He pulled her into another embrace and told himself that he would not let go until she was ready.

* * *

><p>Harry held onto his Firebolt and willed it to go ever faster. His ears felt numb from the suddenly cold wind that was rushing through him as he sped over the treetops of the Forbidden Forest. How far had Sirius said that it was to Hogwarts? Thirty miles? How fast was he going? Harry felt certain he had never traveled this fast on his Firebolt before. He had always been limited by the area of the Quidditch field. Fifty? Sixty miles an hour? Could he make it to Hogwarts tonight? Surely the Death Eaters wouldn't follow him there, would they?<p>

Harry swallowed. The Death Eaters had made to Privet Drive. Perhaps they had found a way to conquer Hogwarts as well. For all he knew, the school might have already been ambushed. Voldemort might be there himself, waiting to taunt him again before this time successfully killing Harry, just as he had killed his parents, his aunt and uncle, his cousin -

And his godfather?

Harry forced his doubts and fears to the back of his mind. He had found his nerve before and if he had any chance to survive this time, he knew he would have to again. He wouldn't give up, not as long as he still had a hope.

Harry looked behind him. There were now five Death Eaters left in pursuit, two just behind him and three a little further back. He also saw that they were gaining on him quickly. Whatever it was they were flying, it was faster and newer than his Firebolt. Harry knew that could not outrun them all the way to Hogwarts. He would have to rely on his Quidditch skills.

* * *

><p>Ginny walked with the other Gryffindors into the common room and sat herself down on the first available chair. She had run into Amanda on the way up and spotted Catherine in the crowd just behind her. The three friends sat down together. None felt like talking too much; everyone was too nervous and afraid about what might have happened to cancel the feast. After seeing McGonagall take Ron and Hermione away with her, they were very much concerned that it had something to do with Harry.<p>

Ginny saw Amanda and Catherine exchange nervous glances as they sat down. They seemed to be treating her like an inflammable substance.

"I bought new dress robes this summer," said Amanda, forcing herself to sound cheery for Ginny's sake. "We're having another ball this year, you know? D'ya wanna see them?"

"Sure," replied Ginny flatly. She tried to move her mouth into a smile but it somehow didn't really make it.

Ginny saw Amanda open her trunk in the middle of the common room and take out her dress, something Ginny knew Amanda wouldn't have done unless she were thinking desperately of a way to take her friend's mind off things, but Ginny's own mind was elsewhere.

What right did McGonagall have to take Ron and Hermione along with her and leave Ginny to walk back to the common room by herself? Had they signed their names in blood that they alone were Harry's best friends? Didn't anyone understand how much Harry meant to her, how much it would kill her to lose him right now? Was Ron and Hermione's grief worth so much more than hers?

Ginny tried to force her anger down. McGonagall couldn't very well have taken the whole of Gryffindor Tower up to Dumbledore's office with her. And Harry had lots of friends, she reflected ruefully.

Ginny vaguely became aware that Amanda had now opened a dark maroon dress with a white frill collar and gold twinkling crescent moons woven all down the side.

"Oh, it's lovely!" exclaimed Catherine.

"The patterns are enchanted to change color whenever I move," Amanda went on. "It's so - "

She stopped abruptly. Silent tears were streaming down Ginny's cheeks.

"I'm sorry." Ginny suddenly stood up. "I - I know you were trying to take my mind off things but I really need to be alone right now." She got up out of her chair, not sure for the moment where she was heading. She finally made her way over toward the window.

"Gin." Amanda stood up.

"Let her go," said Catherine quietly.

Ginny walked over to the window. Most of her fellow Gryffindors passed out of her way when they saw her tears as if she was carrying some kind of plague. The air was still unusually warm for September in Scotland and the windows to the Tower were wide open. She stared out of the window across the school grounds to the Forbidden Forest. Growing up in the Burrow, Ginny had always felt something powerful about nature. It seemed so much broader and greater than any of her small problems. Looking out to the forest, she felt that she had already left behind the low murmurs of conversation in the common room. She felt the wind caress her cheek, blowing the tears away from her eyes and sending curls of hair blowing around her face.

Ginny didn't know how long she planned to stand there. She had spent most of her life thinking about the future, her mind only rarely forced to live in the here and now, but now that future seemed too painful to bear, so she simply tried to lose her herself in the moment.

* * *

><p>Harry felt a bolt of wand fire glance just past his left shoulder. He dived to his right and then back to his left again as another bolt from his right shot past him. Harry saw a small gap open up in the trees ahead. He abruptly swung his Firebolt around and plummeted hard straight down into the crevice. He looked briefly behind him as the canopy of trees overhead closed. With still-blurred vision, Harry could see the Death Eaters were in disarray: two of them had overreached their target. A third tried to dive into the opening and met the open space at precisely the same moment that one of the lead riders tried to backtrack from the opposite angle. The third rider tried desperately to swerve but it was too late: there was a satisfying crack of handle on handle and the third rider spun out of control and thudded hard against a large tree. The lead rider managed to regain his balance but not before his wand fell from his grasp and landed in the undergrowth somewhere behind Harry.<p>

The ground loomed ahead fast. Just as he was about to crash into the bottom, Harry pulled up, the bristles of his broomstick kissing the top of the fern-strewn ground. He moved his broomstick forward just centimeters above the earth. A whooshing sound behind him told him that the wandless Death Eater was in pursuit but Harry had gained back some ground. He didn't dare look again to see if any more were following him. At that moment, the clearing came to an end and Harry plunged broomstick first into the thick dark forest. He weaved his Firebolt dangerously fast between thick trunks of trees, smaller branches and vines stinging his face like the sharp cracks of a whiplash. He could hear the insistent cries from a myriad of strange creatures. Now and again, Harry became aware of movement to his left and right as small - and sometimes not so small - animals scurried out of the way. He kept hoping to hear the crash of a pursuing broomstick against a tree but the silence told him that his pursuers must be still on his tail.

Just then, Harry heard the whooshing sound of wand fire to his left. A wild beast from somewhere in front of him roared in fear and an enormous tree fell down across Harry's path. He rolled over sideways to avoid it, seeing as he did so a second chaser traveling parallel to his own position, wand at the ready. The chaser was starting to pull ahead of Harry and he realized the two Death Eaters were planning an ambush. Harry pulled up sharply, riding the large trunk of a tree up into the open sky.

As he pulled out into the open, he saw the two other Death Eaters still flying through the sky to his right. He tore forward and heard one of them shout in the distance. He knew they would both move to pursue him. Harry took out his wand again.

"_Point Me_!"

He shifted twenty degrees to his left to remain on a course for Hogwarts. Suddenly, on an impulse, Harry took his Firebolt high into the sky, higher than he had ever done in any Quidditch game, so high he could feel the wind resistance start to jolt the tail of his broomstick. But he had to see it. He had to know.

And then he did.

Far in the distance, straight ahead of him, were the unmistakable lights and turrets of Hogwarts, their reflection glistening in the lake by the side of the school. If only he could just hold on.

Wand fire crackled from underneath him as one of the Death Eaters moved up to his position. Harry took out his own wand.

"_Impedimenta_!"

Harry's own shot flew harmlessly into the empty sky. He maneuvered his broomstick once again toward the top of the thick foliage below, skimming the tops of the tall trees. He heard the cries of the Death Eaters and dodged a flurry of wand fire before diving down directly in through the top branches of a large leafy oak. Harry felt the leaves and branches bite into his face as he rode down and down, praying that the Death Eaters wouldn't follow his suicidal plunge. He veered dangerously close to the tree's main trunk and then into the thick forest again, passing inches over a small bog before cutting another winding path through the thick forest. He heard the cracks of branches behind and knew that at least one of the Death Eaters was in close pursuit. He wound through thicker and thicker foliage. The light of the moon was distant indeed from the dark forest ground. Harry was not sure he could keep this up much longer. He gasped as a large thick trunk emerged directly in front of his face, swerving just in time to avoid a surely fatal collision.

Then Harry heard an unearthly cry just behind him. At first he thought it was the moans of another strange beast, but then he chanced a brief look back and saw to his horror that a giant eight-legged spider had leaped onto the stomach of the on-rushing Death Eater, unseating him from his broomstick which had now crashed and splintered into the trunk of a nearby tree. He heard the Death Eater shouting a curse at the spider, but the curses were soon replaced with chilling screams. Harry looked back ahead of him. As he dodged more and more trees, he suddenly realized that the ground just beneath him was alive with movement. Suddenly, something grasped his own leg and was forcing him down into the forest. He looked back to see the beady eyes of an enormously large arachnid that had grabbed onto his leg. Pain suddenly seared into Harry's calf as the spider dug into his flesh with its pincers. Forcing his eyes to return to the dangerous path ahead, Harry grabbed his wand from his pocket, pointed to the dipping end of his broomstick and cried:

"_Expelliarmus! _"

Harry shouted the curse three times before he finally heard a snapping sound and felt the spider drop off the end of his broomstick. Harry righted his Firebolt and continued his journey deeper and deeper into the forest, hoping to see some kind of clearing ahead of him, but the darkness went on.

From the sound of snapping twigs behind him, Harry knew there was at least one Death Eater still on his tail. He suddenly saw a flash of movement to his right and noticed the Death Eater running just beside him. He heard the Death Eater curse and saw the flashes of light coming between the trees before bouncing harmlessly off the wood. Harry dodged and weaved, trying to put as much space between them as he could, but the Death Eater seemed to twist with him, matching Harry's every turn. In a tiny part of his mind not concentrated on survival, Harry sensed something familiar about this rider, as if they dancing a dance they had choreographed years ago. He accelerated his Firebolt. Flying perilously fast, Harry swooped in between two trees, but the Death Eater hung close. Finally, swallowing his nerves, Harry made a sudden swerve to the right and criss-crossed hard into a collision course with the Death Eater. He ducked as the Death Eater cried "_stupefy," _then flew inches above his head and ducked in between the two main trunks of a large oak. The Death Eater recovered almost immediately, swerved and ducked to copy Harry's move but he was a split-second too late. Harry heard the crack of the Death Eater's broomstick as its end rammed against one of the tree's large branches. He glanced back to see the Death Eater spin around on his half broomstick and crash harmlessly into a bed of ferns. Harry continued to dodge and weave through another two trees as he heard the Death Eater's wand fire crash against a tree just behind him.

Once he was satisfied that the Death Eater was far behind him with no means to fire or pursue, Harry aimed his Firebolt back up into the sky.

* * *

><p>Ginny drank the fresh night air like an intoxicating wine. The wind started to swirl and blow harder into her face. She knew that it was a sign. The last of the summer nights was fading, as if on cue, with the start of the new school year. Tomorrow, it would be autumn. As a child, Ginny had developed a strong gift for sensing the changing of the seasons and feeling this change again seemed to soothe her turbulent nerves. She glanced up to see a small cloud moving slowly toward the moon, and then for an instant, something else. A black blur seemed to rise out of the forest near the horizon; it passed over the moon and turned direction. Then another followed and then another just above the first. Ginny squinted as a gust of wind sprang up and stung her eyes. Like Harry earlier that evening, Ginny thought at first that they must be large birds, but they didn't seem to move like birds. Rather, they moved just like...<p>

Ginny suddenly felt her heart flutter.

No, it couldn't be.

* * *

><p>Harry didn't need his wand to show him the way this time. As his Firebolt flew above the treetops, Harry could see the lights from the Hogwarts castle glowing above the horizon just to his right. One lone Death Eater flew just behind and to his left. Harry goaded his Firebolt on. If he could just keep going a little bit longer, he would make it over the grounds and provided all was well, there was a good chance the Death Eater wouldn't follow him. He could see from his peripheral vision that the Death Eater was gaining on him and it wasn't long before he was dodging the crack of wand fire again. As the Death Eater moved closer, Harry could see long blondish-white hair trailing behind him.<p>

Lucius Malfoy, Harry realized at once. He should have known.

In between dodging Malfoy's curses, Harry thought quickly to himself. He was sure that five Death Eaters had survived Sirius' diversion and chased after him: One had collided into his fellow rider when Harry had dived into the forest the first time; one had been attacked by the spider (Harry still shuddered at the thought), and one had just spun out into the undergrowth. That left two Death Eaters. Where was the other one? Harry realized that it must be the wandless rider who was missing. Perhaps he had disapparated to get another wand. Perhaps -

Harry realized only too late what had happened. The wandless rider landed on top of him with a bone-jarring crash. Rough hands grabbed Harry's shoulders and tried to force him off his broom. Harry hung on desperately to the undercarriage of the Firebolt, and fought back pressing his strength against the Death Eater. He finally landed a blow to the side of the Death Eater's head and swung down hard with his hands to send the Death Eater's broomstick crashing down into the trees below. Now the two of them hung perilously onto Harry's Firebolt. Harry felt the shaft of his broomstick crushing against his stomach as he and the Death Eater sandwiched it between them. The Firebolt now twisted and turned circles in the air, dangerously close to the top of the trees. Harry's stomach felt like it had flown into his throat as sky and earth spun around and around. He vaguely became aware of the towers of Hogwarts starting to loom ahead of them but the Firebolt was no longer traveling in a straight direction.

* * *

><p>Ginny stared at the impossible scene that had emerged before her eyes. It seemed there were three riders now, two of them hanging onto the same broomstick while the other flew nearby with his wand outstretched. She didn't dare hope what she was seeing was real. She didn't dare hope that one of the riders could be Harry. She reached into her pocket and drew out her wand pointing at the spot of sky above the forest where the riders were now twirling figure eights in the sky.<p>

"_Lumos Solarum!" _she cried.

A bright beam of light flew out from Ginny's wand across the Hogwarts grounds and out toward the three riders. It was still too far away to shine on the riders, but Ginny's cries attracted the attention of her fellow Gryffindors. Seamus suddenly appeared in the window to her right.

"Bloody hell!" he cried.

Ginny's heart pounded faster. It was not just her imagination then.

Within moments, the windows were full of Gryffindors. There were several cries of "_lumos solarum" _and wand lights shot out from the tower to blanket the night sky.

* * *

><p>Harry continued to wrestle with the Death Eater. The two of them clung onto each other and the broomstick tightly so that it was impossible for either to free his fist for a blow. Harry finally managed to release his left hand and punch the Death Eater in the chin but he still clung onto the broomstick. Harry reached up again to strike but the Death Eater ducked his face to avoid the blow and Harry made contact only with the Death Eater's mask which came off and fell down into the forest below.<p>

Harry gasped as he saw the crooked-toothed face of former Slytherin Quidditch captain Marcus Flint snarling back at him.

The distraction was all that Flint needed. He grabbed his hands around Harry's throat and began to shake him vigorously.

"No - decent - jobs - for - boorish - goons - left?" Harry managed to croak.

"Flint," he heard Malfoy's silky voice call from somewhere nearby. "Hold him still so I can get a clear shot. Then we can end this!"

Harry tried to wriggle out of Flint's chokehold but it was no use. His eyes began to water as Flint tightened his grip. Suddenly, out of the corner of his vision, Harry saw something large and white fly into view and dive right at Flint's face.

Flint screamed and tried to swat the invader away. In the distraction, Harry wrestled himself out of Flint's grip and, without stopping to think, planted a hard kick into Flint's stomach.

The Death Eater screamed as he lost his balance and felt off the Firebolt and down into the branches of a tall tree below.

Harry swung himself back on top of the Firebolt just in time to feel the light from Lucius Malfoy's death curse scream past his ear. There was a squawk beside him and Harry turned around properly to see what it was that had saved him.

"Hedwig!" he exclaimed.

Harry caught his bearings for a moment. The struggle with Flint had taken him further away from the school grounds but he could still see the castle lights not far ahead of him. Malfoy was still right on top of him, his mask now fallen off, dirt and blood lining his normally well-groomed complexion.

"_Avada Kedavra!" _Malfoy cried.

Harry pulled the Firebolt hard straight up into the sky to avoid Malfoy's curse. He kept flying higher and higher and felt the swirling wind start to take hold of the broomstick.

Malfoy lost direction for a moment once again but was soon in pursuit.

Harry finally straightened his broomstick and found himself very high in the sky. He realized he must be somewhere around three or four hundred meters above the tops of the trees. The school grounds lay sprawled out just ahead of him and he suddenly saw the tips of a dozen wand lights coming from the top of Gryffindor Tower. They must have seen him. Perhaps that also meant that Voldemort had not managed to take over the school. Harry felt his heart swell with hope. If only he could hang on just a little longer.

Malfoy finished his ascent and straightened his broomstick to fall just behind Harry. Suddenly, both riders were hit with jolts of turbulence as high heavy winds tossed them like feathers. Harry tightened his grip on the Firebolt. Malfoy tried to fire but he kept missing wildly and finally had to use both hands to just to keep control of his buffeting broomstick. It was just as Harry had planned.

"I told you, Potter," Lucius Malfoy cried into the night air. "I told you you'd meet the same end as your parents one day! Think about it, Potter: in the end, no one in your family could escape the Dark Lord. Your parents were finally defeated, your aunt, uncle, and nephew finished off and now, finally, you will go to join them!"

Harry did not gratify Malfoy with a response. He knew that the Dark Wizard was trying to eat away at his nerve because he could no longer reach him with his wand. Harry concentrated his anger at Malfoy through his broomstick and egged it down toward the Hogwarts castle. In a few moments, he would pass over the threshold of the Forbidden Forest and over the perimeter onto the grounds. He swung his head around and saw Malfoy beginning to pull back. It was working. He couldn't or wouldn't follow him to Hogwarts. Harry had escaped. He had made it.

Harry was so consumed in his reverie, however, that he did not notice Malfoy flying down out of the wind to release his wand hand yet again. He was too far away to see the shrewd smile that curled up the sides of Malfoy's face and he was out of earshot when Malfoy took out his wand and cried into the night:

"_Accio Firebolt!"_

Harry suddenly felt a hard jerk on his hands. His broomstick was slipping away from his grasp underneath him. He struggled to hold on but it was no use. He swung backwards and felt his grip slide away from the handle. Harry made a final desperate grasp at the bristles at the end of his beloved broomstick but finally came away with only these in his hand. He caught a brief glimpse of his Firebolt flying through the air into Malfoy's waiting hand. Malfoy took it in his hand and then spun away in the opposite direction.

Harry tumbled backwards and felt his momentum carry him over the school grounds. He let out an ironic laugh he did not know he had been holding. In the end, he had finally made it home.

But Harry also knew that he would never be able to survive a fall from this height. He watched the earth below him loom closer and closer. Lucius Malfoy had been right: Harry had resisted the Dark Lord for longer than anyone could have dreamed possible but now he, too, was going to die.


End file.
